


the shadows of now

by macbethattempest



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hydra, Imprisonment, Torture, WinterShock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macbethattempest/pseuds/macbethattempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Soldat"</p><p>In the darkness, bound in chains, imprisoned, Darcy saw the metal glint and fear, pure unadulterated fear, sparked in her.</p><p>James Barnes came into view, his back rigid, his frame powerful, the essence of a fighter, the captor.</p><p>---<br/>After a long long hiatus, this story is back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I part i

**Author's Note:**

> This shall be gruesome.
> 
> All the love.

Darcy whimpered.

In a dark room full of death and destruction, Darcy Lewis atoned for her sins.

She pushed against the chains binding her but they were nearly immovable.

Why wouldn't they be?

 _He_ had tied them, his metal arm working in tandem with his flesh hand, and left her here, all alone, where only a sliver of light entered through the narrow opening at the top of the chamber.

Darcy was dazed; no water, no food, no light. Perspiration beaded down her neck, her head thrown back as she lay in a spread eagled position on the hard cement floor. Her back ached and her torso clenched and unclenched.

Darcy swallowed.

It had been her fault, she supposed. Thor had warned her not to leave for Jane's mutilated lab alone, but she'd been adamant. She couldn't leave her Sabre unattended for that long.

Her discovery had been incredible. The Sabre could very well change how political science majors viewed the issues of the past and the present.

And then she'd gotten into trouble.

The lab had been mutilated for a reason.

Jane had been working with Stark to find Hydra safehouses. She had been very close to finding a new location, and Steve was to fly out next week to commandeer it. But Bucky had demolished everything in Jane's lab and left undetected.

Apparently, he had not left.

Darcy had entered the lab, seen the flash of metal and she remembered nothing after that.

She'd woken up in the room, being yanked like a rag doll by James Barnes, no idea of where she was and who held her.

And here Darcy was, kidnapped and probably on the verge of death.

The door creaked open.

Darcy stiffened.

A lone man entered the room; tall, blonde, lanky and wearing dark blue coveralls. Definitely not James.

Darcy arched her neck and tried to look out of the door, but all she saw was acute darkness as the man shut the door quickly.

The man was carrying a tray in his hand. He walked towards Darcy and knelt near her head.

Darcy wanted to speak but her throat was parched. She couldn't squeak if she wanted to.

The man took out a tumbler from his tray and unscrewed the cap, his movements methodological. Putting a straw in the narrow opening, he put it to Darcy's lips.

Darcy sipped rapidly. Dimly, she realised that he might be giving her poison for all she knew but she was too far gone to worry.

As water flowed down her throat, Darcy sighed, life returning to her body. And suddenly, the straw was yanked from her.

"Hey", Darcy protested weakly.

But the man showed absolutely no reaction to what ever she did. He picked up a transparent bag from the tray, weighed down by the fluid present in it, attached one end of the tube to the bag's opening an the other end, to Darcy's utmost horror, a needle.

 _Needle_?

He held the bag up and shook it. He took the needle, and with alarming quickness injected the needle into Darcy's wrist. Darcy gave a faint gasp at the needle piercing her skin.

What was she being given?

_Was she being sedated?_

She started to struggle against her chains when she suddenly felt energy surging into her veins, slowly yet gradually.

_Liquid nutrition._

Darcy could easily recognise the feeling of glucose and nutrients being injected into her body. Her head lolled back. Her body was feeling full, like she'd just had a complete sumptuous meal. And she was starting to feel drowsy.

Her eyes were at half mast. Through the haze, she noted that the man had removed the needle from her wrist and was standing up to leave.

Darcy tried to reach towards him, to stop him, to call him, but she couldn't move an inch.

She heard the sound of a door close and everything faded to black.

\----

Darcy awoke to the sound of murmuring.

She blinked and pulled her hands and legs, trying to stretch them after a long slumber.

Sharp pain lashed in her arms, her reddened wrist rubbing against the metal rope and she cried out.

Everything came back to her suddenly, memories assaulting her brain.

And she stilled.

"Hello Ms. Lewis."

She heard a polished male voice. She strained her neck to look at the source and a suited man walked towards her.

He was flanked by four other men wearing similar black suits, brawny and huge.

The man who had spoken smiled politely.

"I'm Jack Gamow", he said, looming above her flat-on-the-floor form.

"Sorry to meet you under such conditions but the times are rather urgent", he spoke apologetically.

He looked like a man who polished his nails regularly and put gel in his hair.

Darcy's mother had always told her to not trust a man who put product in his hair.

"What do you want?", Darcy rasped out, scathingly.

"Now now Ms. Lewis", he said, as if her volatility surprised her. "No need to be so harsh"

He raised his arms in the air. "We can all be friends here. You just need to give us the information regarding a certain project your friend and comrade have embarked upon."

"It's rather hurting us, I suppose." He frowned prettily.

"I'm not giving you anything", Darcy spoke, her voice firm.

"Tch tch, my dear", Gamow said, daintily. "Your mouth is going to get you into trouble."

He leaned closer to her face. "Much much trouble."

Darcy jerked her head back.

"Thor is going to find you and tear you from limb to limb", Darcy nearly snarled.

"Oh I have no doubts of the abilities of your noble friend", he spoke, cheerfully. "He'll find us I'm sure." He clapped like a little girl.

"It's just that-" his voice grew somber. "It might be too late by then." He nodded sagely.

"I'm still not giving you anything", Darcy spit out.

"Oh darling you're not the first nut we have had to crack", Gamow said sympathetically.

He bent and tugged at a stand of Darcy's hair.

"You'll tell us", he spoke knowingly. "Like they always do".

Darcy spit at him.

Her chains bound her so her direction was off. It hit the side of his ear.

Gamow shook his head.

He stood up and took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his ear clean.

"Soldat", Gamow spoke quietly and heavy footsteps rounded the door.

In the darkness, bound in chains, imprisoned, Darcy saw the metal of glint and fear, _pure unadulterated fear,_ sparked in her.

James Barnes came into view, his back rigid, his frame powerful, the essence of a fighter, the captor.

He was wearing the same black uniform Darcy had seen him in in the old SHIELD records when he'd fought Steve at the ship before it collided with the Triskelion.

He stood casually, but his stance was poised, as if he could uncoil and pounce at any moment.

_The stance of an assassin._

James looked at Darcy, his eyes impassive, and then he turned to Gamow.

" _Sie haben gerufen?_ ", James spoke, his voice rough, scraping at her skin.

" _Zeigen Sie ihr, was wir mit Menschen tun, die nicht unseren Aufträgen nachkommen_ ," Gamow replied, his hand still at his ear. " _Das kleine Vögelchen weiß nichts."_

" _Bringt den Gefangenen von Station 3"_ , James' voice rang in the room.

A command, Darcy realised.

She'd taken German in high school. She could understand bits of what they were saying and it didn't sound good.

There was a sound of footsteps and the door opened again and three men dressed entirely in black walked through, carrying a thin and pale man between them.

They set him on the floor in front of Darcy and as James spoke again in the foreign tongue, they tied him up to a pole that had been invisible in the darkness. The man struggled against the ropes but they held him down.

"Spare me", his voice stole across the room. But nobody paid any heed.

Gamow moved behind her and pushed the plank, on which she was lying, up, so that she was no longer laying on the ground but sitting upright, still bound.

He whispered in the pit of her ear, "watch closely Ms. Lewis".

His voice crawled across her skin and terror seized her.

James moved towards the man nonchalantly and reached out to take a knife from one of the men who had accompanied the prisoner. He held the blade to the man's throat.

"No", Darcy whispered.

And then James slowly, very slowly cut the man's neck. His hand moved absolutely slow, nearly dawdling at the man's skin and blood seeped out of his neck.

The man screamed; horrific screams echoing across the room. And James kept at it, his hand stopping only after reaching the very end.

Darcy couldn't move. Her body felt like lead. She couldn't close her eyes, her lids wide open.

Fear.

Horror.

And the man gurgled. His neck went slack, and the screams stopped as the man fought for air, suffocated and then died.

James got up and turned, passing the blade to the same man.

" _Mehr_?", James spoke to Gamow.

" _Nicht mehr_ ", Gamow replied. " _Sie ist ausreichend erschrocken."_

Gamow got up and went to stand beside James, the man dead behind them.

"You'll tell us everything Ms. Lewis", Gamow spoke to her, smiling. "Everything."

" _Jetzt_ ", Gamow barked.

All the men stamped a foot against the ground; their voice echoed as one,

"Hail Hydra"

And a sharp rap hit the back of her head.

Her vision blurred,

and

Darcy slipped into darkness.

 

 

 

 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monsters.
> 
> She was in the company of monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter up! 
> 
> All the love.

Darcy woke up to her head pounding.

She blinked against the darkness, her eyes taking too long to adjust to the perpetual lack of light.

Her body felt like lead; heavy, frozen.

She breathed in the stale air.

Her gaze immediately went to the door, latched and locked with an iron bar. Customarily, she tried pulling at her chains but they refused to budge.

She could tell that it was night; no thin stream of sunlight was entering through the narrow opening above. _But which night was it?_

The door creaked open and the same man who'd given her water stepped through.

Cold air rushed across her body and she shivered. In that shiver, she realised the state of undress she was in.

She'd been captured in her jeans and sweater. Now she was dressed in a white slip. Red burned across her skin. Somebody else had dressed her. She felt violated.

The man walked through and his eyes perused her body. She was acutely aware of her state of undress and, anger and humiliation crawled up her skin, as his devoured her frame as if she was a pet laid out for his enjoyment.

She waited for him to come towards her and he did. He knelt down and to her utmost surprise, undid her restraints.

The moment she was free, she threw her weakened hand out in the semblance of a punch on his jaw but he caught her arm mid air effortlessly. She growled and threw her other hand at his stomach but he caught her other wrist too.

Frustrated, she thrashed against his hold and then leaned forward and sunk her teeth into his arm, hard. The iron tinged taste of blood flooded her mouth and she bit harder.

The man showed no response, as if pain was a subsidiary to him. She felt the muscles of his forearm clench but that was the only reaction she got.

Darcy pulled her mouth away, her breath coming up fast.

_Monsters._

_She was in the company of monsters._

And then he released her. But before she could do anything, he slapped her across her cheek, hard.

Darcy's vision went white and her ears rang with the blow. Her skin flamed and she felt momentarily disoriented with the force of the blow.

The message was clear: she was completely at his mercy.

He pulled her up and Darcy staggered, not completely sure on her legs after such disuse yet. The man whipped out a cloth and wiped all the blood off her face.

He grabbed her upper arm and walked her to the very corner of the room, ensconced in darkness. He opened a small wooden door there, and pushed her in, closing the door behind her.

It seemed to be a washroom. A small dinghy sink and a tap were attached near the entrance and a rusted commode sat on one end. She looked around trying to find something she could use as a weapon, but in vain. So she did what she was expected to do and walked out.

The man led her back to the plank and easily as if she was a feather, laid her back and started to bind her.

"You don't need to do this", Darcy whispered. "You're a prisoner too. We could escape this place together."

The man looked at her for a second and then he went back to work.

He tied Darcy up again and then pushed her plank up into an upright sitting position. Darcy expected him to leave but he picked up the platter, brought it over to her and placed the lip of the water bottle against her lips.

Darcy drank thirstily and this time he didn't take the water away. After she had drunk her fill, he placed a bite of cheese on her lips, which Darcy swallowed hungrily.

He fed her, bit by bit, in acute silence.

Then as her appetite was full, and she pursed her lips as he brought food close, he got up and pushed the plank back, so that she was again in sleeping position.

"Don't go please", Darcy spoke to him, her voice pleading. "We can help each other."

And the man looked at her again, contemplating, and then he walked out the door.

\----

Darcy lost all track of time.

She tried to count to pass her time but she always lost her way in the hundred thousands. She tried to discern the shadows against the roof but they always mixed up in the end.

She refused to _think_ , occupying her mind with trivial thoughts.

A patter of footsteps was heard outside her door. She strained her ears.

The door flew open.

Unbidden terror mounted her body.

The scratch of metal distracted her from her fear. Heavy equipment was being drawn through the door. Two men were rolling in a screen through the entry. The screen was attached to a large adapter with thick wires and something that resembled a modem.

And then the Winter Soldier walked through.

He was twisting up the sleeves over his arms, his body taut.

" _Bereitet alles schnell vor_ ", he commanded the men.

A fourth man entered behind James and moved towards Darcy. Darcy stiffened. He hoisted the plank she was on, up, so that she sat upright bound in chains instead of spread eagled on the floor.

James moved towards her.

Darcy's breath constricted, her lungs nearly stopping with fear.

He dragged a chair to her side, and sat on it, his legs wide open and arms resting on his knees.

" _Schaltet es ein_ ", he barked to the men by the screen. Then he turned his full attention to Darcy.

And as Darcy looked in his impassive, emotionless, _soulless_ silver eyes, she realised she had never been more afraid as she was in this moment.

"Do you see that?", he spoke, his voice a rough baritone, his diction clear.

"I'm not blind", Darcy replied, empty smite marking her words.

James scrutinised her.

"Then look _now_ ", he enunciated the words.

And Darcy froze with horror.

There, on the screen, was a large and deep tub of water and above it, tied with a rope attached to a pulley, hanging upside down, was Ian, her assistant.

_No no no._

Darcy struggled against the constraints.

She _had_ to save him.

Desperation seized her.

Her skin chafed against the metal rope but she kept on writhing, her torso twisting in desperation, her arms fighting uselessly against the holds.

And suddenly a hand was placed on her upper chest, just below her collarbones.

Darcy stilled, her breaths coming out in pants.

"You're not going to accomplish anything like this", James said, his voice firm as a block of stone.

"You want to save him?", he slightly lifted his eyebrows. "Then use your words. And don't lie. Ever."

He removed his hand from her body.

"Your faithful dog followed you when you went to the lab. And he faces the consequences", James spoke, nonchalantly.

And then he leaned forward.

"How many bases have your comrades found yet?", he asked.

Darcy breathed lightly.

"I'll never tell you", she scathed.

James blinked and then leaned closer.

"Again", he spoke, "how many bases have your comrades found yet?"

Darcy looked at him and pressed her lips together.

"Never", she whispered.

James blinked.

"Then so be it", James said.

" _Ins Wasser_ ", he barked.

A creaking sound followed and a tied Ian began being lowered into the water. He started struggling against the ropes, trying to curve his body up. His head touched the water and his nose started to enter the tub.

"No", Darcy screamed. She writhed against her constraints. "No" she screamed again and again.

" _Aufhören_ ", James barked.

Ian was pulled up. He was gasping for air, his body shuddering with the labour of being hung.

"How many bases?", James asked her.

Darcy was panting, sweat beading into her eyes.

She looked at James. "Please don't do this." Her voice broke.

" _Ins Wasser_ ", he spoke, looking directly into her eyes. And Ian was being lowered again.

His face was completely immersed in water, his body writhing weakly.

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you", Darcy cried, thrashing against the bindings.

" _Hört auf_ ", James spoke to the men. And Ian was brought up again, his body no more moving, just coughing feebly.

 _Eight_.

Eight bases had been discovered.

"Tell me", James spoke, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Five", Darcy whispered. "Five bases."

James leaned back in his chair, his left ankle coming to rest on his right knee.

There was a pregnant pause; the calm before the storm

"I thought I warned you against lying", he spoke lightly.

Darcy stilled.

They knew the number of bases already. They had been testing her.

And she'd failed.

Her throat stopped working.

Ian.

"  _Stellt sie ruhig_ ", James said, his eyes on Darcy's frozen form. " _Partielle Lähmung."_

So quickly that she couldn't even understand what was happening, one of the men moved behind Darcy, pushed her up roughly, and before she could think, injected a needle in her back, it's fluid dispersing like wildfire through her body.

Darcy jerked and then her body started going limp. She tried to move her hand but it wouldn't move. She tried to twitch her toe but in vain. Her lips clamped but her eyes stayed wide open, unblinking. Darcy's breath grew rapid and alarm built in her head.

 _"Taucht ihn ins Wasser,_ " James spoke quietly. " _Und holt ihn nicht raus, bis er tot ist."_

And then James turned to her.

"And now you watch", he spoke slowly. "Incapable of moving a limb, only hearing, seeing, _feeling_ everything as one of your own dies a painful, prolonged death."

And Ian was plunged into water.

His body thrashed almost manically against the water, splashing it outside on the wooden floor.

Gurgling could be heard.

And then as he was plunged deeper, his movements grew weaker and weaker until they ultimately stopped, his body hanging limp from the rope.

Darcy watched as Ian dangled lifeless, unable to move a finger, unable to do anything, except feel the acute spearing pain.

And as the pain in her head grew unbearable, she passed out.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heartbeat stuttered.
> 
> They were going to hurt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr username is fibonaccinumbers and I'm kind of new so tumblr me, message me, prompt me (I never knew a thing like that existed w h a t) and I'm absolutely free right now so I'll reply to anything and everything.
> 
> Do that yes ^
> 
> New chapter up

Darcy blinked up at the ceiling.

A kaleidoscope of lights greeted her back.

She'd woken a few hours ago in a vivid flash of memories that had assaulted her.

Water, death, sedation, _Ian._

And she'd held her breath. She'd held her breath for if she let loose the cannon of her emotions, she would combust of the pain she was feeling.

And so she watched the roof and watched how it reflected the narrow beam of sunlight and how a slight rainbow formed and how everything seemed muted, somehow burrowed into darkness.

She heard voices outside the door. And then more voices, muffled, speaking rapidly. Darcy steeled herself.

The door opened slowly and a slew of men came in; well dressed in black suits. One of the men walked behind her and pushed her plank into an upright position.

Her gaze ran over all of the men and paused on Gamow. Her eyes ached. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come.

"Hello Ms. Lewis", Gamow greeted her with a polite smile. "How are you today?"

Darcy blinked.

"Alive", she replied, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Gamow laughed as if he was genuinely amused. "Your inclination to hilarity is a natural", he spoke, his voice imbued in humour.

" _Holt mir einen Stuhl, sofor_ t", he called out, and his men brought him a chair, the wood of its legs scraping across the cement.

"We will have a long talk today, I should perhaps _sit_ ", Gamow spoke matter-of-factly.

Darcy gave no reaction. She just looked at him, deadpan.

There was a sound of boots thudding and Barnes walked through the door. " _Hol diese Schwächlinge aus der Kammer_ ", he spoke to Gamow in his rough voice.

Gamow nodded. " _In Ordnung_." And then he looked to his men, spoke " _Raus_ ", and all the men filed out as one, shutting the door behind them. Only Darcy, Gamow and Barnes remained in the room.

Gamow took a deep breath. "I saw what happened yesterday", Gamow spoke. His face twisted in awe. "Impressive display of strength Ms. Lewis. Impressive."

Darcy's chest twisted.

"I wouldn't have believed you to be capable of such strength," Gamow spoke, his eyes roaming her body. "Letting your own die." His eyebrows rose up. "Very very impressive."

"I would applaud it", he spoke remorsefully. "In any other circumstance, I would applaud it but now?" He gestured with his hands. "Now is the time of trouble." He sighed deeply. "Alas I'm going to have to break you, Ms. Lewis. Strength has its limits." He pursed his lips sadly. "And today we'll have to break yours." And Gamow turned to Barnes.

Darcy's breath caught in her lungs.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

They were going to hurt her.

_They were going to torture her._

"Why are you doing this?", Darcy whispered.

Gamow turned to her, surprised that she had spoken.

"Why would you waste your time on me?", Darcy continued. "A lowly assistant who knows next to nothing. Shouldn't you be finding out more about what Jane and the others are doing rather than focussing on me?"

Gamow smiled. "Ms. Lewis, _on the contrary,_ you know the most."

And then he set his hands on the chair handles.

"Now", he said, as if he was settling on to start a board meeting. "Has the Starkrift held on to our Munich and Denver safehouses yet? Or are the connections for these two lost in the inter web?"

Darcy froze.

This was Level 10 classified information. Only a handful of people, including Darcy, knew about this. The presence of this information with Gamow meant that there was a mole among their team. This knowledge chilled her.

Gamow interpreted her expression correctly. He laughed lightly. "We know almost everything Ms. Lewis." He leaned forward. "And to make it to everything, we have _you_."

"So, the answer to my question please", he spoke, checking his watch.

"What makes you think I'll tell you, you bastard", Darcy spoke.

Everything was lost. At least for her.

Her loss emboldened her, letting her absolute hatred for him shine through.

Gamow stared at her, unblinking. "This could all be very pleasant, Ms. Lewis. Don't make it difficult for me.

 _And for you_."

"I will not tell you a word", Darcy breathed.

Gamow took a deep breath. "Well, then. The tactics of the Winter Soldier shall prevail in times like these."

And Darcy looked to her right to see Barnes carrying a large metal brazier to her side. The inside of the brazier was red with the heat of coals, their crackling a background to their verbal tussle.

Darcy's heart stuttered to a stop.

 _Torture_.

"I think it is important to inform you Ms. Lewis that our Winter Soldier is perhaps of a different time", Gamow spoke nonchalantly. "While I prefer electroshock treatments or a pain needle, he prefers the old ways."

"While they are tedious", Gamow leaned forward and spoke to her as if he was telling her a secret. "All the coals and fire and all that. They are _quite_ effective."

Barnes set the brazier down and took a long thin iron rod and stirred the coals inside, his gaze fixed on the brazier, half of his face hidden by a black mask. There was no noise except the sizzle of heat.

Darcy looked up at the ceiling and counted.

She counted and counted. She reached one million forty five thousand when there was a snap. Her head turned to the side of its own accord.

Gamow got up from his chair and pulled her plank back down. He bent forward and whispered in the pit of her ear, "tut tut, Ms. Lewis", moving back to sit on the chair.

There was a crackle and Barnes slowly removed the iron rod from the brazier. It's end glowed red and as Darcy watched, it turned into a ruddy orange.

Darcy's breath grew sparse.

"Once again, Ms. Lewis", Gamow spoke in the silence. "The answer to my question."

Darcy swallowed and lifted her head up as far as she was able.

"Never."

Gamow looked into her eyes, his black beady ones penetrating her brown ones.

" _Erledige es._ "

And the iron rod descended towards the skin of her arms.

\-----

Pain.

Pain pervaded her body. Pain pervaded her senses. Pain seeped into the spaces between her bones. Pain coloured her vision.

Her flesh ached, red and burnt. Her eyes watered. She couldn't move and she couldn't fall asleep.

Absolute purgatory.

It was night now. After Gamow and Barnes had exhausted her body, asking her questions and using the iron rod on her when she didn't answer, a practice they had done repeatedly for she had given them nothing, they had left.

Darcy had passed out in the middle of their ministrations but had woken up again in a blink and the pain had not let her sleep since then.

She stared at the roof, her best friend at the moment. But there were no patterns up there now. Thin moonlight streamed through the narrow window and cast an eerie glow over some part of the roof.

Darcy's throat hurt. In pain, she had screamed loudly-having nothing to bite on-and her throat was sore now. Swallowing hurt.

Everything hurt.

Suddenly the door opened slightly and a slight chill entered the air. Darcy stilled.

She wasn't ready for it yet. Not at all.

Her breath stuttered in panic.

She'd give up.

It was too early.

_She'd give up._

She needed some time.

She needed some time to steel herself.

_She was too weak._

And she heard the door thud close.

Darcy's brow rose up in confusion. She heard the whoosh of bare feet sifting on the ground. Who was it?

And James shifted into view, standing in the sliver of light.

He was bare chested and bare foot, only wearing the black slacks that were a part of his uniform. His hair hung open and he was weapon less, only his metal arm glinting in the moonlight.

But that wasn't what drew Darcy's eyes to him. It was his face, haggard, drawn, intense, _tormented_.

Everything was silent.

He stared at her and then he walked towards her. Darcy's heart thudded in her chest. Was he going to torture her some more?

He bent and slid down against the wall next to Darcy. He sat with his hair hanging down and his knees pulled up against his chest, looking at Darcy, his gaze pained.

For some moments, nobody spoke. And Darcy's mind spun with consternation.

"I remember he used to get in fights all the time", James spoke, low in his throat, staring at the ground, startling Darcy. "Standing up for people, telling them off, going on and on about freedom and liberty, being the righteous man even when he was a puny kid."

With a start, Darcy realised James was talking about Steve.

"Thin as a mouse, that one", James continued. "Used to wear shoes two sizes big with newspapers stuffed into them. Little kid." James looked up.

His gaze grew increasingly pained, as if his body was burning.

"My friend", he whispered.

And then he stared at Darcy, his eyes tumultuous, not the still silver she had first seen.

"Why are you telling me this?", Darcy whispered through her physical pain.

He blinked. "I-". He stopped.

"I do not remember the things I do", he spoke slowly, his voice heavy.

"I remember sun and the stars. Sometimes, I remember the Brooklyn night sky. Sometimes I remember bridges and roads. Sometimes-"

"I know what you're doing", Darcy cut him off, her body shaking with pain and rage, her voice sharp as a razor blade. "You've been sent to get my confidences. I know."

James stared at her, his eyes wide in childlike fear. "No", he breathed. "Nobody knows I'm here."

Darcy saw red.

"You're _lying_ ", Darcy spoke, her voice shaking with anger. " _You're all lying_. Playing sick games with me. I know you all. I know _you_."

James stood up and Darcy saw the acute vulnerability in his eyes.

And something inside her broke.

But she could not dare let herself believe him.

_She could not._

All lies.

All a part of their elaborate torture.

"I'm not lying", James whispered, his voice hoarse.

"You're here to hurt me", Darcy hissed, her voice thick with tears. "Leave. Leave. _Leave_."

She writhed against her chains.

"The iron didn't make you remember anything?", she sneered. "Leave." Her voice cracked. " _Leave_." Her voice gave in.

James stood there, still as a rock.

A tense silence hung in the air, heavy with the actions the room had witnessed a few hours ago.

And then he walked towards her, put his hand on her collarbones and stilled her shaking body.

He looked at her and as a tear escaped her eye and started rolling down her cheek, his fingers, light as a feather, skimmed the tear away, leaving a slight burn in its place.

His voice whispered across her burnt skin.

" _Schlaf, kleines Vögelchen_."

Then he walked away, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

And Darcy fell into a dreamless sleep, where not even darkness existed.

 

\---translations---

"Holt mir einen Stuhl, sofort" : Get me a chair, quick.

"Hol diese Schwächlinge aus der Kammer": Get these weaklings out of the chamber.

"In Ordnung" : okay

"Raus": out

"Erledige es": do it

"Schlaf, kleines Vögelchen." : Sleep, little bird. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANY MANY THANKS TO STEPHI (lovedria on AO3 and love-dria on tumblr) FOR ALL THE GERMAN TRANSLATIONS.
> 
> All the love.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coal crackled, the iron finally heated enough.
> 
> "Erledige es."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter up!
> 
> Also I'm taking prompts now (it's a whole new world) so prompt me on my tumblr : fibonaccinumbers

Darcy's screams echoed across the dark hall.

She couldn't think.

 _Pain_.

Pain.

Heat.

Iron.

Fracture.

A fissure in her defences.

Her breath left her body in a gust, her head tilting upwards, her torso dragging up with the force of her breathlessness.

She screamed again, sharp, piercing and prolonged. When the scream died in her throat, her torso fell back on the plank with a muted thud, a quiet settling in it its wake.

It was pitch dark, only a needle thin ray of sunlight entering the room and the red of the brazier casting an eerie glow.

"Tell me how Stark corrupted our Mainframe 1", Gamow spoke quietly into the silence.

This was his way of doing things. He was never rude to her, just quiet and assertive.

As was the Winter Soldier. But there was something essentially scarier about him. Maybe it was the lack of humanity he projected or maybe it was the metal arm, a conjunctive tissue marking his artificiality or maybe it was just that he was physically so impossibly capable.

Darcy breathed with an open mouth, her air coming in gasps.

Gamow leaned forward. "Tell me Ms. Lewis. You've given me the answer to two of my questions today; tell me another and make it a lucky three."

"No", Darcy choked out, her eyes on the ceiling.

In their ministrations which were now rounding up to nearly four hours, Darcy had given in twice, when the pain had become a living, breathing thing in her and she had been unable to think, her body nearly lancing with pain, and given them two pieces of information.

She heard the scrape of iron against the brazier and she stilled. Another touch of the iron. She could feel her breaking point approach.

_Lucky three._

Her lungs burned.

No.

She'd take it.

One more time.

She'd endure it one more time.

"Why don't you tell me, Ms.Lewis?", Gamow asked, his voice inflected with genuine intrigue. "Why the loyalty to a bunch of idiots who'd give you nothing." He paused. "And to whom, you're giving _everything_."

"You would not understand", Darcy spoke in her broken voice. "A man like you acts for his benefit, his victory, his success. How would you understand the nuances of a relationship? And the nuances of the weight of the world on your shoulder?"

Gamow blinked.

"On the contrary Ms. Lewis I'm a very intelligent man", Gamow replied, his voice dismissive. "Graduated high school at fifteen and the yada yada." He flicked his fingers.

"I understand everything", he spoke nonchalantly. "My intelligence exceeds that of yours and that of others in the world by a wide wide margin."

"Intelligence?", Darcy asked, her voice contorting in mock amusement and surprise. "I'd call it foolishness." Darcy clucked her tongue, and she nearly fainted, her fatigue and pain so vast. "Only a foolish man would not recognise the worthlessness of your cause."

"You insult both my ideal and my reality", Gamow replied.

"That is because your ideal of a fascist new world order is nothing but a glorified idea you propound to death", Darcy spoke.

"Cut off a limb and two more shall take its place?" Darcy scoffed. "There is just one immortal head. And it can be destroyed by a _sword_."

"Are you trying to rile me up Ms. Lewis?", Gamow spoke, his voice lilted with humour.

Darcy swallowed in frustration. Gamow seemed to have no chink in his armour. Yes, she'd begun to retaliate verbally against him in their sessions to get a reaction out of him. To understand him. But she'd accomplished nothing.

She felt Gamow move closer.

"You'll get tired of this Ms. Lewis", he spoke, his voice low. "And I, _never get tired._ "

Coal crackled, the iron finally heated enough.

" _Erledige es_."

Darcy took a deep breath. "You're wrong." She paused. "I could do this _all day_."

And then she closed her eyes and braced for impact.

Braced for James to take the heated iron to her body.

Braced for the acute pain.

Braced for her involuntary screams, hurting her throat and piercing her ears.

But the moment never came.

She opened her eyes and looked at the Winter Soldier.

And her breath caught.

James stood with the iron in his left hand, frozen mid motion, his eyes blinking rapidly, as if he was flicking through movie channels.

She heard a chair topple backwards and her eyes flew to Gamow, who was standing up, his shoulders tense.

And then he spoke slowly, very slowly, in a foreign tongue.

" _Du erhebst dich aus der Dunkelheit._

_Und der Dunkelheit gehörst du an._

_Du bist der Winter Soldat._

_Du bist Hydra."_

And the Winter Soldier blinked once and then he blinked twice, his eyes, the only thing visible on his mask covered face, changing again to a solid silver.

Winter Soldier's boot thudded across the floor towards her.

Gamow picked up his chair and sat back on it, his weight falling on the seat with a thud.

And _there_.

There was the chink in the armour.

The Winter Soldier was the chink in the armour.

And then Darcy screamed.

She screamed, her voice shrill and raw.

She screamed into the open air as the iron caught her unawares, wormed itself into her flesh and branded into her skin.

\----

Darcy's eyes burned.

The pain made it impossible to sleep. She could only doze off for a few minutes and any slight movement or rubbing against the chains made her almost dizzy with pain.

The newer injuries were tender but the older ones were forming scabs and starting to itch. Darcy twisted and turned, extremely uncomfortable in her skin. The inability to move only aggravated her injuries, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Her wrists and ankles were chafed by the chains that bound them, raw and near bleeding.

It was night. The moonlight was faint today.

She didn't realise when the door opened; only a small sleet of wind and the patter of light footsteps she could hear on the floor, moving closer to her, alerted her to the fact that somebody had entered the room.

 _James_.

He walked to the same wall he'd done the day before like a ghost, and slid down, his knees to his chest, one hand around his calves, the other resting flat on the cemented ground beside him, his head bent down, his hair obscuring his face.

Nobody spoke for a long time, the slight movement of wind the only sound reverberating across the chamber.

"How much do they hurt?", James spoke, low in his throat. "Your injuries?"

Darcy blinked up at the ceiling.

"They don't", Darcy replied, closed off, her voice in a state of perpetual roughness from all the screaming she'd been doing.

There was a pregnant pause.

"The metal hurts sometimes", James spoke, his eyes fixed on the plank she was lying on.

She could hear him swallow.

"It needs to be kept under optimal temperature conditions. Too hot and I seem to malfunction. Too cold and I solidify", James continued. "It's not the arm that hurts. It's the metal bones and the tendons and the nerve endings."

She could hear his shallow breath. His eyes were resolutely fixed to the plank. Darcy's were fixed to the ceiling.

There was silence.

"It burns", Darcy spoke into the dense quiet.

James' head snapped up.

She swallowed. "The newer ones are more painful; the iron was hotter."

James stared at her and Darcy could feel his gaze burning through her bones.

He took a shallow breath.

"Don't tighten your arms when the iron touches you", James spoke, his eyes fixed on her branded arms. "Taut skin makes the iron penetrate much more deeper than loose skin." He blinked. "It'll hurt more that time but it'll hurt less later."

Something came alive in Darcy.

A certain form of rash anger and hurt; destructive and blazing. She held herself absolutely still and stared right at the ceiling, her jaw tightened.

"You know what will hurt less?", she whispered, her voice stilted and hard. "You not taking the iron to my body." She took a ragged breath. "You not _hurting_ me."

And a heavy silence settled in the room; a silence filled with unheard screams, both his and hers.

Only their breaths could be heard, his an even tempo breaking at some points and hers an uneven ragged rhythm contorted by anger and pain.

She heard a muffled drag and she felt James starting to get up. He rose to his full height and silently walked to the door without looking at her. She looked resolutely at the ceiling above her.

He stepped out and the door closed behind him with a tiny click.

And Darcy stared up at the ceiling, imagining patterns of death and songs of agony.

\----

The sunlight illuminated the door handle, a complicated number system.

The man with the food entered the room, holding a tray again and wearing another set of blue coveralls. He walked over to Darcy and undid her restraints.

She did not dare to try to hit him or hurt him again. 

Darcy heaved herself off the plank, nearly falling in her attempt to stand. Her body felt foreign. As she stood up with the help of the man, she felt as if her legs and arms were not cooperating and she walked in small, slow steps to the washroom, the man's strong hold on her upper arm.

She entered the dinghy washroom and found herself too tired to even think of looking for a weapon in there. She relieved herself and moved out of the washroom, her mind hazy with fatigue.

The man led her to her plank, pushed it in an upright position and banded her in chains again.

"You don't see my pain?", Darcy whispered to the man as he did the last lock.

He looked up at her impassively and then fetched the tray and offered her water which she gulped rapidly. He acted as if apart from being a physical object, she didn't exist.

He put a morsel of food to her lips. She pursed them in retaliation but the man did nothing but stay in the exact position he was, his hand stretched out, holding the food particle up to her lips. As minutes passed and Darcy realised that he was not going to leave without feeding her, she reluctantly opened her mouth and ate the food he'd brought her.

"We can escape together", she whispered, her voice pleading, when the food was almost finished. "No slavery for you. And no pain for me." She swallowed. "We can help each other."

The man got up, and as if she hadn't spoken at all, pulled her plank down, turned and left.

\----

Darcy waited all day for Gamow or the Winter Soldier to come and inflict pain on her but nobody did.

She lay alone in her solitary confinement and as was her usual routine, she looked up at the ceiling and tried very hard not to think and to distract herself from the acute pain that racked her body even in almost no movement.

As the yellow light turned into a silver beam, she conjured up her findings; there were four hundred and sixty five major cracks in the ceiling, the roof was made of raw cement but age had coloured it into a shade of android green and the ends of the ceiling where it met the walls had spiderwebs clinging to it.

And involuntarily, she waited. Not for the winter soldier, but for James.

She counted all the countries and their capitals in a bid to get herself to doze off. She became sleepy by Jamaica and was nearly asleep, when the creak of a door roused her from her slumber.

She watched with bleary eyes as James walked towards her, barefoot and bare chested, and instead of going to the wall he'd previously leaned against, he crouched next to her and put her plank up.

He tapped her cheek lightly with his knuckles. "Open your mouth", his rough baritone commanded. Her sleep addled brain complied and he slipped two pills into her mouth with a bit of water. "Swallow", he spoke and she gulped it in.

He stared into her eyes for a moment, his expression inscrutable and then he placed her plank down.

" _Schlaf, kleines Vögelchen_ ", he whispered, his form looming above her and then he disappeared.

\----

As Darcy woke up in the morning from a deep slumber, she felt confused at first. Pictures and voices swam in front of her eyes, all muddled up onto themselves.

And then her mind came alive with knowledge.

The knowledge that she might not be able to discern visually whether her night yesterday had been a dream or not but she could still tell that it was not a dream.

She had considerable proof:

she felt no pain in her body.

 

 

 

 


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has lots and lots of translations. They've all been posted at the bottom.
> 
> All the love.

Nobody came to Darcy for three days.

Except the caretaker and James.

Her pain abated but that increased her desire to sleep drastically. Her eyelids felt heavy and her body felt like it was made of stone, albeit without the pain.

She slept all through the first day, occasionally waking up for a few minutes, confusedly examining the thin stream of sunlight, but then returning back to heavy slumber; a deep sleep with strange dreams; dreams of Jane floating up in the air, eating cotton candy, her father ploughing a garden and singing jingle bells, her childhood friend Lisa dancing to a strange melancholic tune, black clouds descending over the city and showering black rain.

It was nearly night when she awoke; no stream of sunlight was coming through but there was no moonlight either. Darcy blinked her heavy eyes open, her body in a state of non receptivity, heavy with sleep.

Muddled, she looked at her surroundings, moving her head the maximum that she could in her bound state to look at the cemented feet chamber. And it all came rushing back to her at once.

She awoke with a gasp, her body tensing up in a flight or fight mechanism, her hands gripping the lower chains tight. She blinked at the ceiling and breathed deeply. As the adrenalin in her body dropped, she gradually uncoiled from her frozen position, and laid back, letting her limbs loose.

She felt physically well rested.

Her mind went back to the night James had given her the pills and it seemed strange, completely bizarre even, to think that that was just last night. In her oddly rejuvenated state, the event seemed dreamlike and she cautiously lifted her elbow a little. That small elbow lift would have caused her immense pain in her previous condition, but now there was nothing; extreme normality.

As the sliver of moonlight started to shine through the narrow opening in the ceiling, her heart began racing involuntarily. She knew it was the wrong reaction; for all she knew, James was being sent by Gamow, but she couldn't dispel the look on James' face or thte way he talked or acted. Nobody could be that good of an actor.

 _Or maybe, they could be?_ , a small voice niggled in her head.

A small creek sounded and her head snapped up.

The sifting of feet became closer and closer and she saw James, barefoot and bare chested in black slacks, hair open and a slight growth of beard on the face, enter into the moonlight. He stopped five feet away from her and stared at her, his gaze unreadable.

He blinked.

And then he walked through and went to his wall, sitting in his usual position.

Silence pervaded the air.

"My father died in US Army Camp Lehigh", James spoke out of the blue, his baritone reverberating across the chamber. Darcy relaxed her neck and looked up at the ceiling, while he stared at the plank she was lying on.

"I cannot remember who my mother was or what happened to her, but there used to be a lady whose name I don't remember, who used to give me a place to stay", James continued. "She was strict" James swallowed. "But she had morals. Food to underprivileged kids like me. Shelter to the poor vagabonds." James paused.

"She had a son. Used to call himself Dani", James spoke, his voice lost. "I don't remember him but he used to tell me about warheads and guns and death tolls in the army."

He was lost in his reverie, switching to German unknowingly.

" _Ich kann mich nicht daran erinnern wie ich_ _ein Teil davon wurde. Es gab Kämpfe und Tod und Zerstörung und",he paused. "Ich mochte das vor einiger Zeit. Das Zusammenkauern vor einem Sturm, der Rausch des Adrenalins während wir durch die Truppen hetzten, das Gefühl ein Leben in deinen Händen zu halten."_

_"Ich kann mich nicht entsinnen wie es war, aber ich weiß nich wie es sich anfühlte. Erregend und ein Teil von etwas größerem zu sein als man selber ist."_

He paused.

 _"Etwas größeres als das ich jemals sein könnte_."

Darcy swallowed as she looked up at the ceiling. Normally she could understand bits and pieces of German but what he spoke was too fast and too native and she couldn't translate.

However, it was enough to warm and chill her at the same time.

Such a different life.

_Yet such a similar one._

From the corner of the eye, she saw him, sitting crouched, his gaze lost, his shoulders bunched up in tension.

Darcy held her breath and stayed silent in fear that even her breath could break this moment. She couldn't define what rested in the air, except that it was something foreign, something restless, and something she could nearly taste on her tongue.

Suddenly she heard a scraping sound and saw James stand up abruptly, his body tense and arms coiled. He was blinking rapidly again, as if he was seeing different things in each blink. He physically shook himself and she could see his Adam's apple move in a deep swallow. He stopped blinking, his eyes wide and intense, staring at the wall near his hand.

And so quickly that Darcy could barely breathe, much less respond to what he gave her, he stalked out of the room silently, air blowing behind him in a gust.

"Good night", Darcy whispered into an empty room, as the click of the door lock sounded.

\----

Darcy awoke to muffled sounds through her door.

Even though the pain had abated and she felt quite revitalised, fatigue made her dizzy and she was still very exhausted.

She blinked the sleepiness out of her eyes and strained her ears to listen to the voices coming from outside. They were talking in a foreign tongue but they seemed to be in the middle of an argument, their voices taking on heated tones.

" _Ergreift ein."_

_"Nein, nicht."_

_"Wir wollen ihn in eine dieser Kammer platzieren. Auf Befeh von Gamow."_

_"Was ist wenn das Miststück erfährt, dass sich ihr Haushund im Raum neben ihr befindet?"_

_"Wer wird ihr das erzählen? Sie ist an verdammte Ketten angelegt."_

There was silence for a few moments.

_"Er wurde vor ihren Augen getötet. Sie hat es nicht einmal geahnt. Und knebelt ihn damit er keinen Ton von sich gibt."_

There was a muffled grunt and thuds were heard and a sound of a heavy sack being tossed on the floor. A bang sounded and Darcy realised that a door had been closed and then there was utter silence.

Darcy writhed in frustration. She hadn't been able to understand a thing. For all she knew, they were talking about mutilating her.

Briefly she wondered, what was to happen to her today?

Why wasn't anyone coming to her?

Had they lost interest in her or were they planning something worse?

Her breath stuttered.

She couldn't bear to think of the future so she stopped thinking altogether and fixing her eyes on the sliver of sunlight peeking through, started counting.

She reached two million and sixty seven when fatigue took over her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

\----

Darcy blinked open her eyes to the sight of moonlight entering through the narrow opening. Blearily, she realised she'd slept all through the day again.

She turned her head to the left to stretch her sore neck and she flinched violently, her heart in her throat, all the sleep leaving her body in a second.  
  
James sat there against the wall in the same position he always did, legs folded up to his chest, arms on his knees and head tilted down, hair obscuring most of his face.

His head turned up and he looked at her. He took in her facial expressions and his eyes lidded, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Darcy breathed deeply, trying to still her fluttering heart.

"It's okay", she spoke a little breathlessly and was startled at the hoarseness of her own voice.

James went back to staring at the ground. Darcy stared at him a moment more and then turned her face upwards to the ceiling.

It was Darcy who broke the quietude this time.

"My mother was a teacher in a high school. Used to teach Political Science", Darcy spoke in her raspy voice.

In her peripheral vision, she saw James' head turn up towards her in surprise but she continued.

"She made me interested in the subject; talking about world politics, how nations worked, how governments functioned."

Darcy cleared her throat.

"She died when I was fifteen. Car crash. Drunk driving case; both mum and the drunk guy DOA. My father and I weren't really close anyway. After her death, we lived together for some years and then I went to uni and we just" Darcy paused. "Separated."

"So well, I pursued political science but it became too painful to do; I was doing all the things my mum taught me. And reading all the papers and thesis she read from. So I joined Jane." Darcy swallowed. "Figured a change was in order and _boy_ , what a change."

There was silence for some time and Darcy wondered whether James was even listening to her.

"So what about political science now?", James asked, his rough voice crawling across the room. "You liked it didn't you?"

Darcy was surprised that he had paid enough attention to ask questions, much less infer things from what she had subconsciously implied.

She cleared her throat.

"I can't go back to it again", she spoke, her voice low. "It's too painful."

James gave out a bark of laugh at that and Darcy jerked at how harsh and cruel it sounded; no semblance of humour in it.

"Some", he paused. "Dying to forget", he spoke his voice rough and scathing.

"Some.

Dying to remember."

\----

Darcy lay awake in the night, her mind teeming with thoughts and ideas and rebellions.

Her mind hurt with the force of her cerebration.

In her musings, she had realised that she had come to consider the Winter Soldier and James as two different entities.

On one hand, her heart ached with his loss. His memories were a fragmented mess, lost to his own mind. She could see he remembered bits and pieces, here and there. But why did he come to her? Why did he tell her his losses? What was drawing him to her? Was he, in his reverie too, Gamow's slave?

On the other hand, there was the man with the solid silver eyes: the man who had had Ian killed, the man who cut the throat of that unsuspecting man, the man who took the iron to her body, the man who hurt her. And she loathed that man with a ferocious vengeance.

Two sides of the same coin.

One man; two such polarising personalities.

She lay supine on the plank, her mind teeming with thoughts, ideas and escape.

And that night, her mind didn't let her sleep.

\----

A thud sounded.

The men in the room watched as words of power rounded in the air, roping and commanding, holding life in their hands.

"Sehnsucht." _Longing_. 

Hydra's most powerful slave struggled against the heavy chains on the metal chair, his eyes glazed over, his veins stretched to their breaking point.

"Eingeroste." _Rusted_.

His metal arm hit the side of the chair, creating a screech that echoed throughout the hall and wormed itself into the ears of the agents standing around him.

"Heizkessel." _Furnace_.

Heat scorched his face.

The burn of death.

James grunted, his mind starting to convolute.

"Tagesanbruch." _Daybreak_.

Light flashed in front of his eyes, memories of missions, memories of killings, him with his metal arm glinting, standing in the sun.

"Siebzehn." _Seventeen_.

His breath started coming faster, his arms clenched on the handles of the chair, his teeth locked tight.

Blink.

Blink.

"Harmlos." _Benign_.

Blood spilling across the floor, the knife rusted. Spinning spinning his mind is spinning.

"Neun." _Nine_.

A lock on the door. A time of the night. The people in the cavern.

His taut body bows forward, an animal coming to life.

"Heimkehr." _Homecoming_.

Du erhebst dich aus der Dunkelheit. Und der Dunkelheit gehörst du an. Du bist Hydra.

"Eins." _One_.

The first.

Him.

His nose flares with the senses coming to life inside him.

"Güterwaggon." _Freight car._

Emptiness.

Blank.

A slate wiped clean.

As James Barnes falls to his death from the freight train, the Winter Soldier comes to life.

"Ready to comply".

 

 

 

 

\----

TRANSLATIONS:

 

1.

_"Ich kann mich nicht daran erinnern wie ich ein Teil davon wurde. Es gab Kämpfe und Tod und Zerstörung und",he paused. "Ich mochte das vor einiger Zeit. Das Zusammenkauern vor einem Sturm, der Rausch des Adrenalins während wir durch die Truppen hetzten, das Gefühl ein Leben in deinen Händen zu halten."_

I don't remember how but I became a part of that. Their was fighting and death and destruction and", he paused. "I used to like that. The huddling up before a storm, the rush of adrenaline as we rushed across the troops, the feeling of holding a life in your hand.

 _"Ich kann mich nicht entsinnen wie es war, aber ich weiß nich wie es sich anfühlte. Erregend und ein Teil von etwas größerem zu sein als man selber ist."_  
I don't remember how it was, but I remember how I felt. Exhilarated and a part of something bigger than I was.

He paused.

 _"Etwas größeres als das ich jemals sein könnte."_ Something bigger than what I could ever be.

2.

" _Ergreift ein._ " Take him

" _Nein, nicht._ " No don't.

" _Wir wollen ihn in eine dieser Kammer platzieren. Auf Befeh von Gamow."_ We want him placed into these chambers. Gamow's orders.

" _Was ist wenn das Miststück erfährt, dass sich ihr Haushund im Raum neben ihr befindet?"_ What if the bitch inside gets to know that her pet dog is in the room next to her?"

" _Wer wird ihr das erzählen? Sie ist an verdammte Ketten angelegt."_ Who will tell her that? She's in motherfucking chains.

There was silence for a few moments.

" _Er wurde vor ihren Augen getötet. Sie hat es nicht einmal geahnt. Und knebelt ihn damit er keinen Ton von sich gibt."_ He was brought to death before her eyes. She wouldn't even suspect it. And gag him so he makes no noise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the phrases and words used to charge Bucky are said in Russian in the movie but in keeping with the authenticity of Nazi Germany, I've had them in German.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German translations in the end!
> 
> All translations by lovedria (love-dria on tumblr); she's amazing.

The men caught Darcy at the dead end of the corridor in which her room was located.

She'd emancipated two men; three, if you counted the caretaker.

Desperation.

Acute desperation had seized her.

She'd known she could never escape but she'd hoped to get farther before she got captured. But as soon as she'd moved out of the room and assaulted the two guards and run, she'd been inundated with men.

She hadn't slept a wink in the night; partially due to oversleeping the past two days and more so, because as her pain had receded, she had gained the capability to think.

And so she'd concocted and schemed, her thinkings based on innumerable variables and past teachings, with a recklessness borne of her own lack of fear that how bad could they make things for her.

In the early light of the morning, when the caretaker had come to feed and relieve her, she'd been unrestrained as usual and walked with her usual limp to the back washroom except this time, the limp had been faked. Her body had not been racked with pain as it usually was, the effect of the painkillers still persisting, her pain nearly negligible, and as soon as she'd entered the bathroom, she'd looked at the rusty commode carefully. Then with a stillness that surprised even her, she'd crouched down and removed the loose nail from the base of the commode which was attached to the floor.

She'd kept the nail in the space between her gums and inner cheek, just as Maria had taught her to store a piece of cyanide, relieved herself and walked out silently.

When the man had placed her back on the plank, he'd started to bind her back. He'd just begun when she'd screamed recklessly and placed a hand at her throat as if she was choking. The caretaker had displayed his usual impassiveness in the beginning but then his eyes had grown alarmed as spittle and blood had seeped out of her mouth in a slow rhythm (a nick she'd made in her upper gum).

He'd bent over her quickly and efficiently to where her hand was clasping her neck and in the process, exposed his neck completely to her mercy. And Darcy had stuck her blow, the sharp end of the nail pointed outward from her lips, and sunk it into his jugular; the vein Natasha had coached her to identify, the vein that caused a short but painful death.

Her shot had been little off mark but she'd persevered, incessantly driving the nail into the man's neck, it's sharp end embedding into his skin. The man had gone still and then stood upright.

For a second, acute fear had gripped Darcy.

_What if the man lived?_

But then she'd seen his eyes roll back, a loud gurgle escaping his lips as blood seeped slowly from his neck, and before he could put his rising hands to his neck, he'd slumped to the floor, lifeless.

Darcy had wasted no time. She'd gotten up and bounded, and just as she'd reached the door, two uniformed men had barged through. With the tray the caretaker had brought the food in, she had rammed one man in the face and the other in the neck, both of them slamming back and slumping on the ground.

And then she'd ran.

She'd ran as fast as she could to the dead end of the corridor where it split into two smaller hallways and had been greeted by about ten men.

The one in the front had caught her in a hard grip, the other had hit her in the stomach with the butt of his gun, and she'd experienced excruciating pain rack her entire body, as they had picked her up and carried her back.

But she'd not lost her fight and she'd writhed and shrieked weakly as they had deposited her on her plank and started to tie her down. Once fully bound, they'd all left her and filed out of the room, gagging her with a piece of cloth.

And Darcy's world had been a haze of pain and anger and disappointment.

Now she lay in the same position in the same place she'd tried to escape from, angry tears streaming down her face and a dull ache pulsing in her entire body, with its epicentre at her stomach.

She sniffed and she could smell the blood in the room. The man hadn't been removed yet. She forced herself to look at his body, _to look at her first kill_ and she nearly vomited at what she saw. The man was, as a whole, completely fine except for the nail sticking into his neck, blood still seeping out of the hole, and his face becoming a sickly yellow, as his eyes remained frozen open, his hands frozen midway.

She snapped her head back and looked at the ceiling, swallowing the bile rising in her throat.

The door opened and her heart pounded with fear.

Two uniformed men walked through and without sparing her a glance, took the dead body of the man out on a stretcher and returned to clean the blood on the floor with bleach, it's sharp scent pervading the air and burning her eyes.

The door closed behind them with a click and somehow the click was ominous, a determinant of her future.

She would be punished for this.

But she couldn't bring herself to regret it.

She had done something necessary for her own mind and heart and she had already accounted for the fact that she'd have to pay the price for this.

She closed her eyes and waited for their worst, her body running on a strange combination of a deep rooted defiance, body paralysing fear and mind numbing pain.

\----

The door opened with a bang.

Multiple footsteps sounded as Darcy's vision cleared.

Four men stood by the door, while five were in the room standing near the far wall. Darcy turned her head as one man came behind her and put her plank into an upright position, her eyes landing on James standing in the middle of the room, looking at her impassively.

James stalked towards her, his mask off, but dressed in complete cavalry; his eyes a solid silver.

Darcy's breath stuttered.

The Winter Soldier.

He came close and crouched in front of her, his eyes assessing her as if she was a specimen.

"What did you think?", his rough voice rang across the room. "Did you think you could escape?"

Darcy's heart pounded.

His metal arm trailed a soft hand down her throat and stopped at her collarbone.

"Did you think we are stupid?" He paused, his voice lowering down to a near whisper. "You've committed a grave crime, girl. Trying to escape us. Killing one of us. _Defying us._ "

He stood up and stared down at her.

"We've given you enough time," he spoke, his solid silver eyes boring into hers. "Spared you, rather."

And then he barked at the men in the room, " _Löst ihre Ketten._ "

Two men came forward, undid her chains completely, and put a hand on her back to help her stand. She wobbled on her unsteady legs and swallowed deeply.

James walked towards her and stood directly in front of her. His metal hand stroked the skin of her cheek softly, nearly caressing her, and then in a move as quick as lightening, he slapped her hard.

Darcy's entire frame shook with the acute force of the blow, her eyes saw white and tears gathered in her eyes automatically. She was kept upright only by the men behind her who had a steady hold on her. She could feel a cut open up on the outside skin of her cheek from the metal, blood seeping out of it and a tooth rattle free inside her mouth with the blow, blood pooling in her gums.

The men pushed her forward, her legs nearly dragging against the ground, setting her on a chair she hadn't seen before. She felt numb. The pain in her mouth hadn't set in yet; only the awareness of the injury.

The chair was wooden, with an identical one placed opposite to it; the two separated by a narrow small table. James occupied the other one, his attention completely on Darcy. It was as if he was monitoring her every move; his laser focus searing her breath, movement and actions.

The two men behind Darcy stayed in position; as if they knew that she would need support. The Winter Soldier pursed his lips, his metal hand travelling across the table to hold her right hand in an iron grip. He opened her hand which was clenched into a tight fist with his other hand with practiced ease.

Darcy's entire frame trembled.

"I'm not going to ask you questions", James informed her, his eyes fixed on the metal forefinger tracing the lines of her palm. "Neither will it hurt if you don't give answers."

He looked up at her. " _It will hurt regardless."_

He stared right into her wide eyes.

"You're being punished for your misbehaviour."

And as soon as he had finished speaking, he lifted her hand up and then took her index finger, and with a stroke of his hand, snapped it backwards.

The bone broke with a crack.

And Darcy screamed like a banshee.

Red hot pain streamed through her hand, the broken finger dangling unnaturally backwards. She tried to move but the men behind her held her tightly, only allowing her room to writhe. She tried to snatch her hand back from his clutches but his grip grew tighter, tightening on the veins of her wrist, drawing a thin stream of blood.

James leaned forward. "You're being punished for your _extreme_ ignorance."

And then he snapped her middle finger.

Darcy screamed murder, tears ripping down her cheeks. "No no no", she chanted, her pitch reaching a feverish high. "Please", she begged, her sobs muffling her words, pain racking her body.

But it seemed as if nobody was affected by her.

"You're being punished for thinking you're better than _us_ ", James spoke evenly.

And he snapped her ring finger.

Darcy's mouth remained open, no scream emitting out of it, her breath coming in pants, her eyes tearing with the pain.

As James' metal finger caressed her thumb, she blinked. "James", she whispered. "Please."

And there was utter silence in the room. James' hand stilled on her finger. Nothing could be heard except for Darcy's laboured breathing. James slowly tipped his face up, his eyes a tumultuous silver.

Darcy dredged up the remnants of her strength. "Please don't hurt me", Darcy whispered raggedly. "Please don't hurt-"

 _Snap_.

Darcy screamed shrilly through the fatigue and pain, her body jerking with the force of the snap, all four of her fingers hanging at an unnatural angle. Darcy's eyes blurred with pain, her hand nearly pulsing. Her head lolled backwards, her breathing shallow.

James tapped her on the cheek; not exactly a slap but not gentle either - enough to get Darcy to open her eyes and look into his solid silver.

"Do not speak until I'm not done with you", James rasped.

Darcy lost all hope.

It had all been a trap.

James coming to her, James telling her about himself, James giving her pills.

It had all been a huge huge trap.

And she'd fallen right into it.

She'd started seeing him as two different people.

She'd started believing in him.

As Darcy gasped in pain, she realised the simple truth of it all: he was one.

Somehow, this torture hurt more. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she'd come to believe she had a safe place. But they had tricked her and manipulated her. They had made it hurt more.

_He had made it hurt more._

And Darcy shrieked as her thumb was grossly and slowly moved in the opposite direction, the job not done quickly as the other fingers were. The snap of each small bone could be heard as a tick, and as each bone broke, Darcy's scream grew into a keen and ultimately echoed into silence as she passed out in a stupor, darkness greeting her like an old friend.

And as her fingers broke, her will broke too.

\----

Darcy awoke to the sound of a scraping of a chair against the floor boards.

She was highly disoriented; half asleep, half awake.

"Wake up time, Ms. Lewis", a soft voice rang to her.

She opened her heavy eyes and tried to move her jaw but found that she had been gagged. She turned her head to the side, already in upright position. And she saw Gamow sitting there, pretty as a princess, his hands delicately clasped on his lap.

Darcy jerked back, her head hitting the wooden plank with a thud. Pain began blooming in the back of her head and Darcy nearly came out of her skin. Any weariness fled out of her body as the pain flared with a vengeance and Darcy could only clench her toes and breathe through an open mouth. She couldn't feel the ends of her fingers; only the broken mound of flesh joining the finger to the palm, aching red. She had not control over her right hand, the part below the wrist useless and hanging limp.

Gamow took in her sudden reaction to the pain.

"Oh dear Ms. Lewis", Gamow spoke in a mock concerned voice. "The winter soldier caused you quite much pain today, I heard."

Darcy clenched her jaw, her teeth biting into the slightly damp cloth used to gag her.

"Well you did commit a heinous crime", Gamow spoke off handedly. "Trying to escape us." He shook his head. "Wrong thing to do Ms. Lewis." He tutted.

"What would compel you to do that?", Gamow asked, his tone inquisitive. "Killing that innocent innocent man in such a gruesome manner." His face reflected awe. "I, for one, would have expected you to be so savage Ms. Lewis."

Darcy choked back a scream; her throat filled with anger and pain.

"But you know what's the interesting part?", Gamow continued. "You tried to _manipulate_ the winter soldier." Gamow seemed to contemplate thaw. "Very foolish, I'd say", he spoke matter-of-factly. "He's ruthless, Ms. Lewis and can hurt you in more ways than you can imagine to know."

Gamow sighed.

"Unfortunate as it may", Gamow spoke. "Time is going out. I'd _love_ to see more of your antics", Gamow nodded earnestly. "But we need information. And if you cannot give us that-"

Gamow paused for effect.

"You will have to be disposed."

Darcy stilled, the impending threat handing in the air.

Gamow stood up from his chair.

"Take good rest Ms. Lewis", Gamow spoke, fixing his shirt sleeves. "Tomorrow is a tough, _tough_ day."

Darcy lay still against the plank, her head pounding as Gamow put her plank back in a laying position, and left the room silently.

\----

Gamow stood still in the main compound, the men flanked out in entry and exit positions.

 _"Ich bin für zwei verdammte Tage weg und ihr versaut alles,_ " Gamow spoke quietly. " _Ein dummes Mädchen, was angekettet war, schafft es zu entkommen."_

" _Wer waren ihre Bewacher?_ ", Gamow commanded . The two guards shifted forward, the bruises inflicted by Darcy on them blue-black.

And with the casualness of a man merely serving food to his guests, Gamow pulled out the gun from the back of his pocket and shot them through the head cleanly, their lifeless bodies falling back on the floor with alacrity.

The tension in the room amped up by a thousand.

Gamow looked up at the rest of the men, his gaze filled with contempt.

" _Das dauert zu lange_ ", Gamow spoke. " _Ich will Informationen. Ich werde die verdammte Sache selber erledigen."_

Heavy footsteps thudded across the room and a shadow fell across the room.

Gamow turned to the Winter Soldier. " _Bereit für deine Mission morgen, Soldat?_ ", he asked.

The winter soldier nodded once in affirmative.

" _Du wirst alleine gehen, nehme ich an_?"

" _Selbstverständlich_ "

Gamow nodded. " _Zerstöre alle Spuren im Labor,"_ Gamow spoke. " _Nichts soll zurückgelassen werden."_

" _Das werde ich._ "

And as Gamow turned his back on a slave he took for granted, he did not see the solid silver churn, flashes of memory infiltrate the damaged mind, seep into the cracks, and transform an animal into a man ravaged by time.

 

\----

Translations:

1\. " Löst ihre Ketten."

"Open her restraints."

2\. "Ich bin für zwei verdammte Tage weg und ihr versaut alles," Gamow spoke quietly. "Ein dummes Mädchen, was angekettet war, schafft es zu entkommen."

"I go for two fucking days", Gamow spoke quietly. "And the lot of you mess up. A stupid girl tied in chains manages to escape you."

3. "Wer waren ihre Bewacher?", Gamow commanded .

"Who were her guards?"

4."Das dauert zu lange", Gamow spoke. "Ich will Informationen. Ich werde die verdammte Sache selber erledigen."

""This is taking too long", Gamow spoke. "I want information. I'll do the bloody thing myself."

5\. "Bereit für deine Mission morgen, Soldat?"

"Are you ready for your mission tomorrow, soldier?", he asked.

6\. "Du wirst alleine gehen, nehme ich an?"

"You'll be going alone, I suppose?"

7\. "Selbstverständlich"

"Of course"

8. Gamow nodded. "Zerstöre alle Spuren im Labor," Gamow spoke. "Nichts soll zurückgelassen werden."

""Destroy all traces of the lab", Gamow spoke. "Nothing should be left standing."

9\. "Das werde ich."

"I will"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I was not very satisfied by this chapter. The next one will be coming soon.
> 
> Also, thank you for all the comments they are fabulous! Keep them coming.
> 
> All the love.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update, yes?

Solid silver eyes perused the rubble and debris left in the wake of destruction.

" _Zersört alles. Lasst nichts zurück_."

The instructions had been absolutely clear. And the Winter Soldier had carried them out to perfection.

Another lab mutilated. Another dent in _their_ mission.

The soldier stood still, his metal hand clenching. He walked over the broken remnants of concrete scattered on the floor in a mess. The crunch of his boots was interrupted by a distinct crinkle of paper.

The winter soldier stopped, bending down to lift up the slab of cement with his metal arm to uncover a file scattered amidst the pieces. The soldier remained crouched, putting the slab back in its place, the thin file held in his other other hand.

He opened the file and shut it back equally quickly. Solid silver eyes blinked as the image burned in his mind. He looked at the description tag on the front page. The handwriting was small and nearly a scrawl and the soldier blinked rapidly; words written in the same handwriting on browned pages with stamps flashing in his mind.

_Call my mother._

_Have a good trip, Sergeant._

_I might get into the army._

The soldier shook his head thrice in succession in jerky movements and blinked through the glaze in his eyes to look at the description. _'missing persons dated 20th May 2016'._

Solid silver churned as flashes hit his mind, creating a cacophony. The eyes blinked as tumult rose in the mind of the observer; wooden planks and political science and fingers breaking.

He stood up abruptly and with a savage growl tore up the file, pieces of paper scattering on the floor, and walked out of the broken facility, got into his motorbike and left in a roaring rush.

The bits of paper fluttered on the floor with the force of wind, the pieces scattered around, torn apart and holding knowledge.

The winter soldier weathered the force of the wind, the pieces of his mind scattered around, torn apart, and gradually gaining knowledge, revisiting the words burned in his brain from the file.

_Darcy Lewis, presumed dead._

\----

The pain wouldn't let Darcy sleep.

Her broken hand was on fire. She dozed a bit and then woke up again, and then repeated the same pattern, the thin moonlight a reprieve to her reddened eyes.

Darcy felt broken; both psychologically and physically.

She couldn't take much more.

She knew tomorrow would be a different level entirely; Gamow himself had said so.

James would be-

And she stopped that train of thought immediately. No. She wouldn't think about him. Not at all.

And as circumstances would have it, she literally couldn't. The pain was the only thing on her mind; how she could feel her fingers hang, how the acute ache speared her finger joints, how her abdomen hurt from the force of the blow of the gun, how the empty space of a tooth in her mouth throbbed with agony, how she could feel the ridges of the deep gash on her cheek right into her gums.

Darcy blinked. Even her eye lids hurt.

Darcy swallowed slowly, her throat raw from the screaming and the gag hindering flow of saliva.

Darcy stared at the ceiling, her mid incapable of thinking, her mind not extending beyond the pain.

_I'd rather die._

\----

The door opened slowly and a very awake and rigid Darcy did not turn her head to see who entered.

She kept her eyes focused on the stream of sunlight. She heard two sets of footsteps and was slightly inclined to see who it was, but the night had made her gain a certain kind of apathy; she simply didn't care. A hand was placed over her eyes, closing them and a blindfold was bound in place around her head.

She felt her restraints being undone and her body being lifted from the back and the legs by hands and being placed on a cotton stretcher on the floor. The stretcher was lifted and she felt the strange sensation of moving. They moved through the corridors in utter silence. She felt the men step on the rhythm of stairs for a long time and then they walked through corridors again.

A creak of a door sounded and Darcy felt bright lights pierce through the blindfold and heard the shuffling of a lot of footsteps. Her stretcher was placed on the floor and she was picked up by a man like a rag doll and placed into a hardwood chair. Her hands and legs were then bound by a strong rope, the pain in her hand flaring as the rope hit her broken fingers. She felt nimble fingers at the back of her head and her blindfold fell through.

Darcy blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes to the sudden exposure of bright light. As her pupil contracted, the haze cleared and her eyes fell on Gamow standing in front of her, a feet away, dressed in a pinstripe suit, his hands folded in front of him.

Darcy turned her head to look around the hall. The right side of the hall was lined with machinery, showing statistics and biolistics and quantified data and about twenty men dressed in white coats working on them. Scientists, Darcy realised dimly. The left side of the hall was lined with generators and reactors. Darcy wasn't surprised to see that Hydra had its own power source, only saddened that she couldn't share this knowledge with her people.

"Ms. Lewis", Gamow called out, catching her attention.

Darcy ignored him, continuing her visual exposure. She looked down at her chair and the heavy ropes binding her to the chair. She tried to moved her torso a bit and found that it was useless. She relaxed her body and her breath escaped through her mouth in a gust.

"Ms. Lewis", Gamow called again, his voice coercing like he was calling out to a naughty child. Darcy looked at him, after having taken her time to explore her surroundings. Her deadened eyes took in his frame.

"Yes?", she spoke, her voice hoarse from screaming.

"We need answers, ma'am", he spoke as if he was telling her what food she'd have today. "You're sitting in an electric chair", he gestured at the chair with his hand, his lips tilted in a slight smile. "A non-answer and a wrong answer leads to an electrical shock to your head", he added informatively. "Yes this shall hurt but as always," he raised his hands up in defence. "You are in charge here. You can choose to cause yourself pain or you can easily give us the information and make it painless and enjoyable for yourself and all of us."

Gamow tilted his head in contemplation. "Well, for me," he pursed his lips, lost in thought. "It's enjoyable in both scenarios." He shrugged.

Darcy felt the slow drip of fear begin to flow through her veins.

She swallowed.

_They were going to electrocute her._

"Shall we begin?", Gamow asked her excitedly, like a kid asking for candy. And then he frowned, shaking his head at the fear blooming on her face. "You need to be more enthusiastic", he implored her, his manner nearly childlike.

She'd never been more scared before.

It wasn't the prospect of electrocution that scared her; it was Gamow. She'd seen him torture her, she'd seen him verbally destroy her defences, but she'd never seen that manic glee in his eyes. Almost as if, he couldn't wait for her to be electrocuted. Almost as if, this was the most enjoyable thing in the world. Almost as if, he couldn't wait for it to happen.

An uncomfortable bone searing feeling started taking root in her body.

She felt a hand yank the back of her head and pull her hair back in a loose braid. Then sharp nails probed her scalp and slowly yanked her base hair at the side of her head. A sharp indented square like figurine was embedded into her bare scalp with force and Darcy let out a startled cry, her eyes tearing up with the sudden pain. The hand held her head acutely still by clutching her chin and yanked her hair back in four other places, embedding the figurine into the bare scalp in a total of five points.

Gradually, the intense pain started fading away, settling into a background hum and the hands were removed from her head.

Conduits, Darcy dimly realised.

She blinked up at the lights on the ceiling and then looked down in her lap. Gamow stood up in the same position as before, his eyes fixed on Darcy.

"Ms. Lewis, how were Rumlow's files released to the public?", Gamow spoke, his voice calm and patient. Darcy kept staring in her lap.

"Ms Lewis", Gamow called, his manner friendly. "I just asked you a question."

Darcy studiously kept her eyes on her lap.

"Please answer it."

There was a pause. Gamow heaved a sigh, " _Das wird lange dauern; holt mir einen Stuhl"_ and a screech was heard as another chair was brought over to where Gamow stood. Gamow whipped off his blazer, setting it on the back of the chair, and sat on it regally, folding his legs.

"Ms. Lewis", he coaxed. "Look up at me."

Darcy kept her mouth shut and her eyes fixed low.

" _Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level drei."_

And a sharp shock surged through Darcy's head, disorienting her for a second, making her body snap and see white. Her head knocked up of its own accord, her eyes fastening to Gamow's.

Gamow smiled politely. "That's better", he chided.

"Now", he spoke, leaning forward in his seat. "How did they leak Rumlow's files to the public?"

Darcy breathed through her nose, not giving him a thing.

Gamow stared at her. " _Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level sechs."_

A shock went through Darcy's brain, persisting longer and its effect deeper, making her teeth rattle and her eye balls roll back. She had no control over her body. Her broken hand shook violently, pain spearing her body with a vengeance.

As the shock went away, Darcy's nerve endings felt haywire to her, as if her brain could short circuit any minute. She wanted to throw up and the pain was assaulting her body.

" _Gibt ihr eine Minute."_

There was a pause.

"Ms Lewis", Gamow spoke, enunciating each word slowly, "how did they leak Rumlow's files to the public?"

Darcy's head was lolled back, her body not hers.

"I won't tell you", she whispered raggedly, her loudness very low.

"What?", Gamow asked, his voice gaining pitch.

Darcy mustered up her strength. "I will not tell you", she spoke slowly and roughly.

" _Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level acht."_

And Darcy knew nothing.

Shock hit her like a plane wreck; her brain short circuited, her entire body spasming repeatedly, her broken hand slamming against the chair handle with a crunch and her mouth gaping open, breathing in stuttered gasps.

It was long and intense and Darcy couldn't even scream, the sensation of electrocution paralysing and all consuming.

As it ended, Darcy lay exhausted against the chair, her body slumped lifelessly, her head tilted backwards at an unnatural angle, her nerves fried and her brain on fire.

She'd never felt pain like this before. She was treading the fine line between coherency and insanity. She desperately wanted to black out and forget all the pain but she couldn't. Her nerves were burning too much for that to happen.

She had nothing.

She was gone.

She was dead.

She felt a hand clutch her chin and pull it up. Her glazed eyes met Gamow's black irises, his torso bent to look her in the face. "Tell me", he whispered, his breath flowing on her face.

But Darcy just stared at him and her emotionless blinked slowly at him. "No", she whispered, her voice slurred.

"I will do this again and again", Gamow spoke, his words like knives. "Mark my words, Ms. Lewis", his mouth twisted into a thin line. "I shall burn your mind and cause you unimaginable pain." Gamow's eyes speared into her. "You shall die from electrocution."

Darcy blinked at him and with the last vestiges of her strength and a courage borne from knowledge of her fate, she smiled at Gamow.

"I'm already dead."

\----

Silver eyes flickered over the walls of the corridors, memories set in stone.

The hallway winded up and down and right and left, complicated twists of the underground facility, but the winter soldier walked with a surprising surety of destination; though he didn't yet know what it was.

But he'd know.

He'd know when he reached it.

He could feel it was nearer. The flashes were becoming more insistent; words transforming into sentences.

"and boy, what a change"

" _Partielle Lähmung."_

His mind was flickering.

His feet brought him to a stop suddenly. He turned to face the door and rested his hand on the door handle, his hand clutching the metal piece tightly. He breathed deeply and opened the door softly and was nearly stopped by the images haunting his mind.

_chains_

_blood on the floor_

_brown hair knotted and hanging down_

_a screen_

He walked slowly and stealthily, cautious of anything and everything. And as he reached the wooden plank, his anticipation grew. He could feel his mind grasp out to complete the holes in his memory.

The winter soldier came to a sudden halt.

The plank was empty.

There was absolutely nobody there.

His eyes roved through the rest of the empty room that was hidden in shadows; not enough lightening for a mortal man, but enough for an enhanced one.

The winter soldier wanted to crouch and touch the plank but he didn't; some instinct telling him that that was not his place. His feet took him to the wall opposite the plank, a thin sliver of moonlight falling on the spot and he slid down against the wall, his arms wrapped around his wide legs, his face down.

And an ether flowed through his bloodstream; he remembered conversations and eyes and feelings and thoughts and visuals and he threw his head back, his breath expelling in gusts, as second by second, he remembered everything.

And then his eyes fell on a set of chairs and table set by the side and a snap echoed in his ears, his mind singing with the quivering break of bone and the tearing of flesh.

_a metal hand meeting flesh_

_"James"_

_a finger turned back over_

_dilated eyes_

_"please don't hurt me"_

A broken man sat crouched in a room, his fractured mind quivering, his silent cries echoing into the deep silence, and his mind and heart breaking

as

a broken woman lied nearly lifeless in a room, her fractured body leaden, her silent tears streaming down her cheeks, and her mind and heart dying.

\----

_**New York City** _

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A rushing of feet to the monitor and a gasp at the number code of the tracking device.

"The blood tracker is showing movement." A mutter.

A shout. "Call them."

A number of flurry of feet going out of the room and an even more returning back, boots thudding on the ground.

"What is it?" The voice of a leader.

"Her blood tracker is showing vital signs", a hushed whisper. A silence falls across the room.

And then urgent murmurs begin in the tech hall.

"Get a location on that." The voice of the God. "We leave as soon as we get the location."

"We need a contingent." The spy speaks. "We cannot just waltz in like that."

"Got the location." A whisper.

All eyes on one man in the room, his blue eyes fixed on the navigation point.

His hand tightens on the shield.

"Gather your arms."

 

\----

Translations:

1\. "Zersört alles. Lasst nichts zurück."  
Destroy everything. Leave nothing standing.

2\. "Das wird lange dauern; holt mir einen Stuhl."  
"it's going to take long; get me a chair."

3\. "Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level drei."  
"Electrocute her at level three."

4\. "Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level sechs."  
"Electrocute her at level six"

5\. "Gibt ihr eine Minute."  
"Give her a minute."

6\. "Setzt sie unter Strom auf Level acht."  
"Electrocute at level eight."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might seem like there are a few plot holes but I haves whole document full of them justifying them so if you have any questions or anything really, please don't hesitate to ask, at all. 
> 
> Hope you like this.
> 
> All the love.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi  
> Lots and lots of translations posted down.

James' hand rattled against the metal holders that bound him, his torso twisting to get free of the contraption they had kept him in; the cage was complex and secure: made of unbreakable glass and platinum alloy holdings, with a bound chair network in its middle, having metal holders that bound him at the waist, upper chest and hands.

He growled, his gaze falling on Gamow who stood outside the cage with his hands behind his back, staring at James.

"Let me out", James bit out, his metal fingers clawing against the metal of the chair handle.

Gamow continued staring at him, his eyes blinking in consternation.

" _Der Verstand ist eine komplizierte, komplizierte Sache"_ , Gamow spoke slowly, enunciating each word. " _Wir wissen nie was es auslösen könnte, und wie."_ Gamow tugged his head to the side. " _Woran kannst du dich noch erinnern, Soldat?_

James stared right back at Gamow, not speaking, his face nearly feral.

Gamow's eyes bore into his. " _Meiner Meinung nach, und was ich an Neurowissenschaft studiert habe, was so viel heißt wie, viel, kannst du dich nicht an viel erinnern."_ Gamow cocked his head to the side. " _Nur ihre Erinnerungen._ " Gamow's lips tilted up at one end. " _Unsere geliebte Frau Lewis."_

Gamow let out a troubled sigh. " _Wie du siehst, Soldat, ist das das Rätsel."_

 _"Idealerweise, zufolge der Recherche und entgegen der eigenen Intuition was wir denken, solltest du dich wenn du das überhaupt kannst, an die ältesten Ereignisse erinnern."_ Gamow seemed to be talking to himself, the space between his eyebrows set in a frown. " _Aber du erinnerst dich an die jüngsten Ereignisse._ " Gamow pursed his lips. " _Äußerst seltsam in der Tat_ "

Gamow seemed to be lost in thought. " _All diese Tage war ich weg und währenddessen warst du unseren Gefangenen besuchen._ " Gamow scrunched his nose. " _Und diese beschränkten Männer fanden nichts schlimmes daran."_ He paused, his eyes showing his disbelief and displeasure. " _Und du hast gedacht du würdest Vergnügen an dem gebrochenen Mädchen finden._

Gamow looked up at James. " _Letzten Endes bist du trotz Absichten und Vorsätze doch ein Mann, Soldat._ " Gamow tipped his head up. " _Aber du findest kein Vergnügen. Du fickst sie und dann verlässt du sie. Erlösung ist das Ziel und du erreichst es._ " Gamow licked his lips. " _Ich weiß genau, dass Emotionen nahezu bedeutungslos sind wie du."_ Gamow paused. " _Dann sag mir, warum sie, Soldat?"_

Gamow seemed to be in a trance. " _Man kann von Glück reden, dass ich während deines Mitternachtsabstechers an einer Strategie gearbeitet habe, ansonsten hätte ich nichts gewusst."_

" _Aber natürlich"_ , Gamow spoke, his head snapping up to look at James as if he had just remembered he was there. " _Du musst dich um nichts Sorgen machen."_ Gamow shrugged. " _Wir müssen dich bloß öfters kalibrieren."_

Gamow turned his head to the side, calling to the men standing by the door.

" _Besorg das Buch._ ", his voice echoed throughout the hall.

James tensed.

He started lifting his torso up to break the metal band around his lower waist. He tightened his core, and let the ridge of his abdomen slam against the metal band.

The metal band broke with a loud crack, the cacophony echoing across the room.

Gamow's head snapped up to James, his laser eyes wide.

He rapidly opened the book and started speaking.

" _Sehnsucht." Longing._

James didn't stop his struggle, his movements powerful and efficient, and the chest band broke.

" _Eingeroste." Rusted._

His mind was starting to being hit by flashes. He moved his neck to dispel the assault in his mind.

" _Heizkessel." Furnace._

Footsteps came through the door, a Hydra guard running into the room, the door slamming against the wall and rattling at the hinges.

"We've been compromised. SHIELD is here", his breathless voice echoed throughout the room.

Everything went still.

"Initiate Protocol Sixty Four", Gamow spoke, his voice hard as stone, breaking the silence.

"It's too late", the guard replied. "They've already demolished Entry One."

As if on cue, a slew of gunshots were heard from outside and a clamour of feet thudded across the hall.

Gamow stood rigid. "Code four two A in action."

And everyone came into action at once, whipping out their weapons, and marching outside, gun shots echoing in the background.

A loud growl rumbled up the building and the sound of large concrete spaces being demolished was heard.

The Hulk had arrived.

James moved against his bonds inside the cage, abandoned as the code was initiated; abandon the unnecessary properties.

He tightened his metal hand and let his hand fly up in the air. The metal didn't let up but a small crack appeared. James started pulling his hand repeatedly, the crack widening and the band broke as mayhem occurred around him, the Shield agents infiltrated the room he was in, their bullets ringing against the Hydra men.

Using his metal hand, he ripped out the bands left and stood up, punching against the glass wall repeatedly. Tiny cracks began to appear in the wall, small glass shards dislodging from the epicentre.

A SHIELD agent took notice, and let out a shout, alerting the others of the Winter Soldier's attempts to escape from the cage. Almost all the Hydra agents in the room were down. The SHIELD agents turned towards him, forming a battle line, their guns pointed at him.

The leader shouted, "stop your attempt." And the men raised up their arms, their guns pointed at him, standing in military formation.

But James kept going at it, his metal fist creating indents and in a flourish, the glass broke, it's ting fragments flying outwards, taking down the three men standing right in front of the cage.

James jumped out as shots began firing at him. He took out the three men next in line with his bare hands in seconds and then taking hold of their guns, shot the rest of them through and through, disposing of an entire squadron alone.

He walked out of the room at a brisk pace, his metal hand going to his opposite shoulder to dislodge a bullet that had embedded there. And then he broke into a run.

The corridor was very wide and was filled with men of both sides firing shots and engaged in hand to hand combat. James ran through the people, killing any men who came in his way quickly and bounded towards his quarters where he'd been captured by Gamow this very night using a metallic vibranium taser.

He put on his suit of armour, his mask in place and then stilled as the roof shook, concrete bits beginning to fall on the floor, loud growls and the sound of heavy helicarriers emerging from above.

Darcy was in the generator room, which was hidden to the side, and was found after moving through a contorted path. SHIELD agents, after a thorough search would find it, sure, but with the way things were going, they were going to raze the facility to the ground first.

The roof shook again.

He had to find the fastest way to reach Darcy. Going through the corridor again to take a left in the middle part which led to the corridor running parallel to his room path would take too long. He'd already heard sounds of bombs in the back way. There was no option but to go through walls of adjacent rooms and then run through the large cellar to reach her.

Another rumble rocked the facility, this time small blocks of concrete hitting the ground.

James breathed deeply and then turned. He lifted his metal hand up, and slammed it against his left room wall. A large hole developed in the wall and James jumped into the other room amidst the concrete dust, entering into the line-of-fire of about ten SHIELD agents who'd just killed Hydra men.

James' muscles became taut, the surge of a fighter flowing through his veins.

And then James did what he did best.

He killed people.

\----

Darcy could hear songs. Her mother used to sing songs to her in her soft voice.

Songs,

and tunes, and

lullabies.

_**hush-a-bye don't you cry** _

Through dazed eyes and an immovable body, Darcy Lewis stared up at the single bulb that hung in the generator room.

blink blink

through dried eyes

blink

_**go to sleep, my little baby** _

She wanted to close her eyes and escape reality and

slip into oblivion.

She blinked, and,

nearly fainted with the amount of effort it took to do so.

But she held on to it.

This was the only thing she could do; the rest of her body was nearly paralysed with the amount of electric shocks that had been administered on her.

Sleeping would rob her of her only ability.

_**when you wake, you shall have** _

A few hours had passed since the electrocution and everybody had left.

All alone in the big black room

Her position was fixed: head lolled back and her eyes fixed to bulb on the ceiling.

Maybe if she slept away, she'd wake up and realise this was a dream.

_**all the pretty little horses** _

The bulb was moving; rattling at the hinges.

Was she hallucinating?

Darcy's eyes blinked at the bulb again.

Rattle rattle rattle.

_**dapples and grays, pintos and bays** _

Gunshots

Bombs

Shouts

Darcy blinked.

A crack.

A large block of stone from the ceiling fell into the space behind Darcy, it's dust smattering the air.

_**all the pretty little horses** _

The roof was crumbling.

A concrete piece hit one of Darcy's hands and

happiness

rushed through her.

The roof would collapse.

Death

death

finally

beloved death

Darcy closed her eyes in breathless anticipation.

_**way down yonder** _

Thud.

A wall crumbling.

Crumble crumble

Darcy nearly smiled with happiness

Closer to peace

And the light from the bulb, that was penetrating into her eyes disappeared.

But the sounds continued to wreak havoc.

_**in the meadow** _

Where was death?

Where?

This was taking too long.

Something touched her cheek delicately and her eyes flew open.

She blinked in consternation at the figure looming above her.

And then her eyes widened in fear.

_**poor little baby, crying Mama** _

No no no

She wanted to die

She did not want James

She tried to open her mouth. It opened a bit but that's all she could do.

Tears leaked out of her eyes.

Fear.

So much fear.

_**birds and the butterflies** _

"No", James breathed.

"No"

His face contorted in pain, his hand removing his mask.

"I'm here to save you."

" _Ich bin hier um dich zu retten."_

_**flutter round his eyes** _

And then his eyes shuttered and his head snapped back, his hands holding his head as if to keep it together.

He screamed

guttural, powerful, animal like

he looked at Darcy, his eyes bloodshot

"Escape", he whispered, his voice anguished.

His knees hit the ground, his hands still clutching his head.

"Run while you can", he rasped, his face in agony.

Another rumble rocked the ceiling around them.

Darcy blinked.

_**poor little baby crying Mamma** _

Happiness coursed through Darcy again.

Let him hurt

Let him hurt

Let her die

Let her die

She did not want any saving

And James suddenly regained conscious thought, his eyes clearing and his body straightening.

Oh no

_**hush-a-bye don't you cry** _

James looked at her, his flesh hand delicately holding her broken hand.

Darcy wanted to take it away from him.

Away away

But she couldn't move.

Her lips trembled

Tears tears

James' eyes looked at her with agony stricken eyes.

"You cannot move", a whisper.

_**go to sleep, my little baby** _

James picked her up bridal style.

"We're going to escape, little bird."

Darcy dangled against his body like a lifeless doll except for her eyes that blinked and blinked.

Please.

Please.

Let her die.

No more promises of saving.

The roof crumbled with a large roar.

Darcy's strength waned.

_**when you wake, you shall have** _

James took two steps when his body racked again.

He shook his head repeatedly.

He growled and fell to his knees, Darcy still in his arms.

His fingers clutched her body tightly, his head searing with flashes.

A process left in the middle.

Darcy's eyes blinked slowly

and slowly.

So tired

So confused

_**all the pretty little horses** _

"I can't get them out of my mind", James rasped.

His knees folded, his arms still around Darcy.

He started rocking on his haunches.

Darcy blinked very slowly.

She wanted to sleep.

Sleep

But what was happening

A dream

a dream was taking flight

Darcy smiled languorously

death death

_**dapples and grays, pintos and bays** _

Darcy blinked up at him.

Blink.

James stopped rocking and he slid fully to the ground.

His hands clutched Darcy to his chest and he bent over her to touch his forehead to the ground.

Kneel

His head was lancing with pain

_I had him on the ropes_

_What about you Dani?_

_Please don't kill us_

The roof shook violently, blocks falling on the floor.

Screams and blood and cacophony

_**all the pretty little horses** _

Darcy blinked up at the cracks appearing on the roof.

Blink

Blink

She was five years old and fever was mounting up her body; a full blown body ache tingling at her toes and spreading in her body.

Her mum's hand swiped back her hair from her forehead.

"No darling", she cooed.

"Don't cry."

Little Darcy sniffled.

Her mum smiled and lifted her up from her blanketed bed a bit, giving her medicine.

A few minutes later and the pain began to recede, drowsiness setting in its wake.

Mum smiled. "Better?"

Little Darcy's words slurred. "Yes"

Mum's hand stroked her cheek.

"Go to sleep, darling"

Darcy blinked

A fractured ceiling above her

And she went to sleep.

\----

James tried to stagger up his feet, but his mind gave out again.

" _Please save my wife"_

_"Töte die Starks."_

_"You're taking all the stupid with you"_

James' head lolled back and he settled against the stone, his head hitting the wall behind him, his arms holding on to Darcy.

He couldn't see anything.

Couldn't see a thing.

Flashes.

Just flashes.

_A broken hand._

_An orphaned child screaming._

_A body writhing helplessly on the ground._

He clutched Darcy to his chest.

The rate of flashes increased.

flick flick flick

James' eyes closed of their own accord.

As debris and roof rocks fell to the ground around them,

the world dropped dead,

as a passed-out tortured mind,

held a

sleeping, vacant one.

 

 

 

 

\----

Translations:

1\. "Der Verstand ist eine komplizierte, komplizierte Sache", Gamow spoke slowly, enunciating each word. "Wir wissen nie was es auslösen könnte, und wie." Gamow tugged his head to the side. "Woran kannst du dich noch erinnern, Soldat?" \\\ "The mind is a complex, complex thing", Gamow spoke slowly, enunciating each word. "We never know what might trigger it and how." Gamow cocked his head to the side. "How much do you remember, Soldat?"

  
2\. Gamow's eyes bore into his. "Meiner Meinung nach, und was ich an Neurowissenschaft studiert habe, was so viel heißt wie, viel, kannst du dich nicht an viel erinnern." Gamow cocked his head to the side. "Nur ihre Erinnerungen." Gamow's lips tilted up at one end. "Unsere geliebte Frau Lewis."//Gamow's eyes bore into his. "According to me, and of what I've studied of neuroscience, which is to say, much, you've not remembered much." Gamow cocked his head to the side. "Only her memories." Gamow's lips tilted up at one end. "Our dear Ms. Lewis."

3\. Gamow let out a troubled sigh. "Wie du siehst, Soldat, ist das das Rätsel."//Gamow let out a troubled sigh. "This is the conundrum, you see Soldat?"

"Idealerweise, zufolge der Recherche und entgegen der eigenen Intuition was wir denken, solltest du dich wenn du das überhaupt kannst, an die ältesten Ereignisse erinnern." Gamow seemed to be talking to himself, the space between his eyebrows set in a frown. "Aber du erinnerst dich an die jüngsten Ereignisse." Gamow pursed his lips. "Äußerst seltsam in der Tat.//"Ideally, according to what research says, and counterintuitively to what we think, you should be remembering, if you remember at all that is, your oldest memories." Gamow seemed to be talking to himself, the space between his eyebrows set in a frown. "But you are remembering the near past." Gamow pursed his lips. "How strange indeed."

4\. "All diese Tage war ich weg und währenddessen warst du unseren Gefangenen besuchen." Gamow scrunched his nose. "Und diese beschränkten Männer fanden nichts schlimmes daran." He paused, his eyes showing his disbelief and displeasure. "Und du hast gedacht du würdest Vergnügen an dem gebrochenen Mädchen finden."// Gamow seemed to be lost in thought. "I'd been gone all these days and you'd been going to see our prisoner all these days." Gamow scrunched his nose. "And these stupid men saw nothing wrong with that." He paused, his eyes showing his displeasure and disbelief. "Thinking you were going to take pleasure from the ruined girl."

5\. Gamow looked up at James. "Letzten Endes bist du trotz Absichten und Vorsätze doch ein Mann, Soldat." Gamow tipped his head up. "Aber du findest kein Vergnügen. Du fickst sie und dann verlässt du sie. Erlösung ist das Ziel und du erreichst es." Gamow licked his lips. "Ich weiß genau, dass Emotionen nahezu bedeutungslos sind wie du." Gamow paused. "Dann sag mir, warum sie, Soldat?"// Gamow looked up at James."After all, for all intents and purposes, you're a man, Soldat." Gamow tipped his head up. "But you don't take pleasure. You fuck them and you leave them. Release is the goal and you reach it." Gamow licked his lips. "I, for a fact know that emotions are nearly meaningless to you." Gamow paused. "Then why her, Soldat?"

6\. Gamow seemed to be in a trance. "Man kann von Glück reden, dass ich während deines Mitternachtsabstechers an einer Strategie gearbeitet habe, ansonsten hätte ich nichts gewusst." // Gamow seemed to be in a trance. "It was lucky that I was working on strategy during your midnight detour otherwise I wouldn't have gotten to know at all."

7\. "Aber natürlich", Gamow spoke, his head snapping up to look at James as if he had just remembered he was there. "Du musst dich um nichts Sorgen machen." Gamow shrugged. "Wir müssen dich bloß öfters kalibrieren." //"But of course", Gamow spoke, his head snapping up to look at James as if he had just remembered he was there. "You don't have to worry about any of that." Gamow shrugged. "We'll just reconfigure you more often."

8\. "Besorg das Buch.", his voice echoed throughout the hall.// "Get the book", his voice echoed throughout the hall.

9\. "Ich bin hier um dich zu retten."// I'm here to save you.

10\. "Töte die Starks."// kill the Starks

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to portray this chapter's end and middle like a haunted song; I hope I succeeded.
> 
> Al the love.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stephi (love-dria on tumblr and lovedria on ao3) does all the translations. She's a goddess.

There was dust and rubble everywhere.

Demolished walls lay broken on the ground and a heavy dust laden silence settled in the air. Metal frames and shards protruded out amidst the concrete blocks, a replica of stalactites and stalagmites. Mangled and lifeless bodies filled the entire area, the stench of blood and rotting flesh pervading the air.

A Shield Squadron walked through the rubble, dividing into three parts and taking up different area zones to scout for anything left in the demolished facility. Squad Three walked through one of the main corridors, body braced and gun cocked, the torch on their helmets the only source of light in the extremely darkened hallway.

Maria Hill led the pack, moving through the twisting and turning pathway, steadily avoiding the sight of the amount of Shield men that lay dead on the floor. They had taken over the Hydra facility alright, but the casualties on both sides had been large.

Hill straightened and squinted. They were nearly to the end of the corridor where to the side, the rubble twisted. Her steps slowed and she raised a hand to the squadron behind her to slow them down. With slow and silent steps, she approached, her gun held up, her bullet proof mask in place. An opening revealed itself as the light of her helmet hit the rubble.

"Clear out the opening", she commanded. The men set to it and removed the concrete blocks in minutes, revealing a black hole in the wall room. This hadn't been marked anywhere on the preliminary map the shield engineers had made after the initial infiltration.

Hill took the lead again and entered the room cautiously and stealthily, the band of men following behind her.

The room was darker than the rest but some lights blinked out in the corner. Small green, blue and red lights flickered and as the squadron approached them, they realised that these lights were attached to huge macroscopic machines; they were looking at a complete source of power. That's why this facility hadn't been marked in the radial mapping; it had its own power bank generators.

"Scout this area", Hill commanded, her back rigid.

Instantly, yellow light filled the room as the agents set up self powered bulbs to search the room.

Hill left them to their work and walked around the room, the debris crackling under her feet, her gun held low. She moved to the lateral wall, inspecting the power source line that extended from one end of the wall to the other. She turned and the light entered her line of sight and suddenly in the far end of the room, something glinted amidst large blocks of stone.

Maria tensed. She approached it slowly.

In that end, the fallen blocks crisscrossed, creating a small enclosure. Maria stepped closer, her breath creating puffs in the air. She crouched as she reached the fallen blocks, her mask lifted up to her head, stretching her neck out to see inside.

Her breath caught.

She stood up abruptly. "I need two men here", she shouted. As two agents hurried over to her, she started moving the heavy blocks quickly.

"Help me clear this out."

As gradually the enclosure cleared out, dust rose up in tandem. Maria swatted it away and her body froze at the sight that greeted her. As one by one the men congregated to this corner, a heavy quiet permeated through the room.

James Barnes was slouched on the floor, his metal arm glinting in the light of the torch, his face haggard and drawn, hair tied back and eyes shut close, his neck hanging at an awkward angle to the side. His legs were folded up and his arms were clutching a body to his chest possessively, his torso bent to shield it.

Maria bent low and she saw a familiar face in the semi darkness.

 _Darcy_ , she realised with a jerk.

Darcy's face was pressed into James' chest, her body curled bonelessly into the man. Her eyes were closed in a stupor. And then as light fell across her body, her arms became illuminated and a dark crisscross pattern of deep red scars and brands shone scarlet across the room.

Maria breathed.

She put a hand to her ear piece, her voice soft.

"Steve."

\----

A sullen ten year old boy sat on the dining table, his head bent low, his face set in stubborn lines. The fork in his hand twirled the vegetables on the plate in front of him aimlessly and his eyes were stubbornly fixed on the plate.

A chair scraped opposite him, the low sound of radio wafting through the quaint house. The boy refused to look up at the new occupant of the chair opposite him.

The woman across him sighed.

" _Boy_ , this isn't going to work", she spoke, her voice softer than her usual stern tone. "You cannot go to the juvenile camp with the other boys." Her voice gave off the impression that she'd already talked about this topic many times before. "You require parental consent for that. And I _cannot_ sign that."

Another sigh.

"Dani will come and tell you all about it."

The boy swallowed in anger. He spoke nothing for a moment, his eyes searing.

"This isn't fair", he finally spoke, his voice scathing, raw hurt and anger bubbling up at the surface.

The woman didn't reply. The boy clenched one fist and looked up at her in the eyes. She kept staring at him. "Nothing ever is." She blinked. "Now eat your food." And she got up from the chair, returning to the kitchen.

"Rosa", James called after her. The woman turned to him from near the kitchen stove.

"Dani will tell me everything right?" His voice trembled with hesitant emotion.

The woman blinked once and then gave him one of her rare smiles. "Yes he will."

The boy smiled his crooked one lip upturned smile and turned to his food.

"Tell me about school today, boy", Rosa called from the kitchen, the sound of cutlery and utensils clinking behind her.

"Oh it was boring as usual Rosa", James replied, munching away at his veggies, his attention on food. " _Der übliche Scheiß, den sie an der Schule unterrichten, mit uninteressierten Lehrern und Kinder, die es nicht kümmert. Ehrlich gesagt, würde ich lieber-"_

"Buck", Rosa's sharp shout cut off his speech. James' head turned up sharply at her. Her face was filled with fury, and her body trembled. She stalked towards him and bent to look at his face aggressively, her hands on his shoulders, her bony fingers digging into his prepubescent shoulders. "Who taught you that filthy language boy?"

James blinked bewildered into Rosa's dark green eyes. What was she going on about?

" _Was tust du_ -?" and James stopped, his body freezing. He had without any realisation started speaking in a foreign language.

German, he realised with a jerk.

He shook his head repeatedly.

" _Rosa, ich wollte nicht-"_ , he was trying to speak English but all that came out of his mouth was German. " _Ich weiß nicht was-_ " He stood up abruptly, the chair falling behind him and Rosa's hands falling from his shoulders.

He took a step backwards, stumbled on the fallen chair and then righted himself. His hand went to his mouth. " _Ich versuche Englisch zu sprechen"_ , he spoke but his mouth refused to cooperate.

And a sudden fear gripped him.

His language was German.

His brain started pounding.

A furious Rosa,

a chair,

a table,

a radio,

food on the plate.

Everything flitted in his mind.

His hands rose to his head, the pain and confusion unbearable. He dropped to his knees, the room vanishing around him and darkness enveloping him.

He tried to claw his way out.

He _needed_ to claw his way out.

He screamed, his voice guttural.

And a little boy fell into a deep dark abyss.

\----

"There was once a death song."

Two sets of breaths puffed in the semi lit room.

"Nobody liked it, but everybody sang it."

A heavy mock nod and eyes widened in wonder.

"They couldn't exactly defy the god of death. So, every night before going to sleep," Darcy's mum bent low, her body bending towards Darcy's little seven year old body wrapped in blankets, "every one in the village used to sing songs of death."

Little Darcy smiled into the darkness. Her mum told the best bedtime stories; full of morbid realities, not the empty happy fairy tales she detested.

"Little boys and girls, old men and women, farmers, merchants, artists, singers, everybody chanted death's song", Darcy's mum lowered her voice. "Everybody sang the song of inevitability, of how they were bound to meet death once and for all, and how they loved it - how they loved the idea of an end."

Little Darcy raised a hand up, enraptured, her small stubby fingers clutching her mum's cheek in childlike happiness and wonder. She'd heard this story of Hades and the village people many times and she loved it the same each time. Her mum held Darcy's raised hand softly and smiled back at her - an acknowledgement of her daughter's love.

And then her mother stopped smiling.

Darcy stopped smiling too, muddled, and looked at her mum.

Darcy's mum's grip grew tight around Darcy's fingers.

Little Darcy blinked confusedly. "Mum?"

The grip grew tighter, digging into her skin. Her mum's nails dug into the skin of her little wrist, drawing blood. Her mother's face transformed, chocolate brown eyes turning to black beady ones, a soft nose changing into a hooked Roman one and Gamow's face stared back at her.

Darcy writhed desperately.

"No please", she cried, her voice shrill to her own ears, and tried to snatch her hand away from him; acute, powerful fear taking over her entire body.

She tried to sit up but she couldn't, her body was pinned back to the bed by an invisible force. Darcy screamed like a banshee. Gamow only smiled serenely at her desperate horror, bending down so that his nose was nearly touching Darcy's.

"You cannot escape me Ms. Lewis", he whispered, his breath blowing across her face.

Fear rose up in Darcy, nearly choking her.

And suddenly everything became hazy. Darcy's mind began blacking out, Gamow's face and the room's edges blurring and mixing together in a mixed palette.

Darcy blinked to dispel the haze from her mind but to no avail. Her eyes started to close and her body started to drain of all energy, her vision beading.

She felt a small hand on her head.

"Go to sleep", a soft feminine voice.

And Darcy slipped into nothingness.

\----

The Winter Soldier stood at the back of the room, his body ready to pounce at the slightest sign.

He was nearly invisible in the amount of people standing in the room; all Hydra agents who had accompanied Gamow to the mission. Gamow was bent on the floor, talking to the prisoners Hydra had captured at the Rop Triskelion; two females and three males, all trying to infiltrate Hydra files.

Gamow's voice rang across the room. " _Soldat_."

The crowd of agents parted of their own accord and the Winter Soldier walked towards Gamow and the prisoners, his stride powerful and purposeful, his metal arm glinting.

Gamow stood up, dusting off his coat. He turned to the Winter Soldier, his hands at his coat lapels. " _Zeig ihnen was wir unseren unkooperativen Gefangenen antun"_ , Gamow spoke to him.

Emotionless silver eyes ran across the prisoners. " _Wer soll's sein?_ ", he asked in a rough voice, impassively assessing each individual's body and build.

" _Das Mädchen mit den braunen Haaren_."

The Winter Soldier placed his penetrative stare on the brown haired female and walked towards her softly, his steps echoing silently in the room. Her eyes widened and he could hear her breath hitch.

"Please don't", one of the male prisoner breathed pathetically.

As if his plea even mattered.

As if his plea would change things.

As if anyone would be even listening to him.

The Winter Soldier didn't even spare him a glance and reached the girl in a few short steps. He could nearly smell the fear and tension emanating from the prisoners. His tongue coiled inside his mouth, his heightened senses nearly tasting the dread of death on his tongue.

He unbound her ropes gently and dragged her to the middle of the room on the small platform placed directly in the line of sight of the prisoners. The girl, for her part, tried to feebly fight but he caught her with an iron grip and she stilled, her body limp in his hold.

He took a step and turned her to face her fellow prisoners on the higher platform, her back to his front. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, coming up to his chin, her brown hair brushing his chest.

"Please don't kill me", the girl spoke sobbing, her voice low. Her plea fell on deaf ears.

James shifted her head to the right, her neck exposed, white and frail in the bright white light of the room. He dragged the tip of his metal finger across her fragile jugular. The girl trembled. His metal hand enveloped her entire neck softly, as if he was caressing a lover and then so quickly that nobody even saw it, could much less comprehend it,

 _snap_ ,

he broke her neck.

Everything and everyone in the room became silent, a pitch quiet pervading the room, as the girl's neck hung unnaturally to the side, her eyes eerily wide open in death.

And then a loud wail pierced the air as the other female cried out low in her throat, the agony in her cry unbearable. A Hydra agent rushed forward and swiftly gagged her, efficiently silencing her.

The Winter Soldier paid no heed to the crying female and let go of the lifeless body of the prisoner. It fell to the ground with a thud. He looked into Gamow's black eyes filled with approval and then he looked down at the corpse, and in the face of the dead female, he saw another.

Lifeless brown eyes stared back at him, blood seeping and flowing from the head between the brown hair, a white shift illuminating the corpse, a familiar set of lips lying open in death and a neck broken unnaturally.

And the sight hit him like a ton of bricks.

The Winter Soldier rocked back, stepping back down from the platform, unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse on the floor. He stumbled back, and then he turned on his heel, so fast that everything was like a whiplash.

And then he ran. He ran out the door, through the narrow archway and into the corridor. He kept on running down the never ending hallway as it got darker and darker and wider and wider, his mind spinning and body racking.

And he ran

he ran

he ran-

\----

The soft breeze caressed Darcy's face, her hair flying on her back, her eyelids fluttering as she perched on the huge rock situated in the otherwise empty field. The grass was overgrown but green, the dew drops of dawn illuminating its blades.

Darcy smiled up at the sky, her light white shift dress sculpting her body lightly.

It was a good day.

Darcy slid down from the rock with the intention of walking towards the place from where she could hear the sound of moving water.

As she slipped down and tried to stand, her legs gave out and she fell to the ground, her entire body thudding on the grass. Unfazed, Darcy smiled at the grass near her face. She tried to get up with the support of her hands. As she placed her right hand on the ground, she fell again, the broken fingers giving out. Darcy mock pouted. She placed her left hand on the ground and got up in semi sitting position again. And then, with the help of her left elbow and the heel of her left palm, she began to drag herself across the floor, smiling at the grass and falling in the soil some times, but righting herself up immediately.

As she dragged herself almost halfway, she felt wetness on the outside of her left hand. She raised it up from the shoulder and looked at it. Her eyes bypassed the broken fingers and she saw a burn mark oozing blood and pus. Darcy made a face and placed it back against her abdomen and then began dragging herself against the ground again, her body drenched in soil.

The sound of water grew louder and she moved towards it, her right hand becoming uncomfortable with all the body weight she was carrying.

She dragged herself to the edge of the grassy land and propping herself up with the elbow of her left hand, removed the grass blades and slid to the edge of the bank, smiling sunnily at nothing at all.

A stream flowed through the grassy area, water peacefully drifting in the mild sunlight. Darcy settled herself comfortably at the bank and sat with her inactive legs dangling in the clear water. She bent forward to clean her soiled legs with water in the stream and as her eyes fell across her reflection in the water, she froze.

 _Blink_.

Her face was sallow and thin, dark circles under her eyes, her right cheekbone turning blue black with some unknown bruise, her hair wildly tangled around her face. Her eyes flitted to the rest of her body. Her right hand was tucked against her stomach, the fingers bent unnaturally backwards. The skin of both arms was marred with burn marks forming bright red crescents spanning large lengths. Her legs lay lifeless against the river bank and her entire body seemed extremely thin and shrunk, her ribs jutting out of her white shift dress.

But that didn't alarm her as much as her eyes did.

Her eyes rose up to meet their reflection and she saw utter _blankness_ in them; a clouded replica staring back at her.

And she watched as horror and pain rose up in the blank eyes like wildfire, their flames licking at her pupil and expanding to the iris as her mind became inundated with

memories

and feelings

and emotions and as

she

remembered

 _everything_.

Her body wracked with horror and pain.

Silent tears dripped from her burning eyes, the pain in them becoming unbearable and she blinked, the salty tears filling her eyes.

She turned her face up to the sky and let out a broken wail.

_She was ready._

In the wake of the sunrise and the break of dawn, on the bank of the stream, her eyes closed,

and,

in a stark white room in a healing cradle, in the vessel of a damaged body, her eyes flew open.

\----

Wind blew across Bucky's face.

Fast, blistering, cold wind.

He was hanging from a metal handle attached to a moving train. His body shook and slapped against the train metal frame, slightly loosening his grip on the bar.

Everything seemed to be occurring in slow motion.

Bucky tipped his head up against the wind and looked up at his wrists clutching the metal bar. He blinked rapidly in confusion. Both his hands were flesh and bone. Where was the metal?

He twitched his left arm from the shoulder and could feel the joints of his body move; no metal tendrils in the ball and socket joint he'd become so used to to.

_Where was he?_

He turned his upturned head to the side and saw a man dressed in blue and red leaning towards him acutely slowly, his arm reaching out to grab Bucky's. His body reacted instinctively and he raised his right hand out towards the man in blue and red.

The handle shook violently, disbalancing Bucky and he snatched his hand back, grasping the bar again. Cold sleet hit his face and his core hurt with the amount of pressure on his body. The bar shook threateningly as the train moved.

He had to do something or he would fall to his death.

Bucky let out a grunt and heaved himself up to grab the upper handle on the same column of the train. But his body felt strange. He didn't have the same power and strength he was used to; otherwise, he would've easily climbed up.

" _Buck_ ", the man in blue and red shouted, his voice loud and tinged with terror and desperation.

Bucky grunted again and tried to lift himself up with all his might.

The fingers of his right hand grazed the upper metal handle.

_Almost there._

The whole train shook violently as it crossed over a valley. Bucky lost his purchase. He slumped down like a rag doll in the face of the cold and the pressure. His left hand held the bar moderately tightly while his entire body hung off the train.

The bar shook again and he could hear a creak. The bar would break.

In a millisecond, he looked at the face of the man in red and blue, blue eyes, blonde hair, jaw made of iron, and committed it to his memory and then as the bar broke,

Bucky fell from the train to his death and his eyes closed in the inevitability of the moment

as

in a highly secure prison cell, a changed man awoke.

\----

 

1\. "Der übliche Scheiß, den sie an der Schule unterrichten, mit uninteressierten Lehrern und Kinder, die es nicht kümmert. Ehrlich gesagt, würde ich lieber-" // "The usual crap they teach at school with the teachers disinterested and the kids not caring at all. Honestly, I'd much rather-"

  
2\. "Was tust du-?" and James stopped, his body freezing. // "What are you-" and James stopped, his body freezing.

  
3\. "Rosa, ich wollte nicht-", he was trying to speak English but all that came out of his mouth was German. "Ich weiß nicht was-"//Rosa I didn't mean to-", he was trying to speak English but all that came out of his mouth was German. "I don't know what-"

  
4\. "Ich versuche Englisch zu sprechen." // "I'm trying to speak English"

  
5\. "Zeig ihnen was wir unseren unkooperativen Gefangenen antun", Gamow spoke. //"Show them what we do to our uncooperative prisoners", Gamow spoke.

  
6\. "Wer soll's sein?", he asked in a rough voice, impassively assessing each individual's body and build.// "Which one?", he asked in a rough voice, impassively assessing each individual's body and build.

  
7\. "Das Mädchen mit den braunen Haaren." // "The brown haired girl."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a connective (?) chapter and just as a clarification, these are all twisted flashbacks and hallucinations while both of them are in a comatose state (though I think everybody got that).
> 
> This chapter took me long to write and I'm still a little confused about this but I hope you like it. Also, this might seem boring but this was very important otherwise everything would have seemed abrupt.
> 
> All the love.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in with the normalcy. As much as I can manage, that is. I hope you like the chapter.

Darcy's eyes flew open.

And she instantly shut them back up.

Bright white lights penetrated her sensitive eyelids. She slowly opened them, blinking several times to get her pupil to become accustomed to the exposure to light.

As her eyes gradually opened, she saw lights placed overhead against a stark white ceiling. She cast her eyes out and about the room and found that she was in some sort of grey container that was just a little larger than her body but had a much higher height that her body placed laterally; she could only see the ceiling at her angle.

She gingerly wiggled her fingers. And then her toes.

Slowly, _very slowly_ , she lifted her left hand up from the elbow and watched as her sleeved hand rose up. She looked down, lifting her head a little and saw that she was in grey cotton pants and a full sleeved top.

She exhaled and placed her hands on the edge of the container and tried to rise up. She fumbled a bit, her right hand not taking her weight at all, but she ultimately got up in a sitting position, her chest heaving with the effort.

She took in the new scene before her.

The room was vast and filled with machines from top to toe. Quantified data machinery, sockets, injectable wires and complicated switch systems protruded out at every point. Darcy turned her head around to take in the view.

Suddenly a beeping sound was heard and Darcy jumped involuntarily. She turned her head to the side to see the source of the sound and was greeted by the flickering of green, blue and yellow lights. They flicked repeatedly, creating a panoramic pattern.

Darcy stilled and unbidden panic rose through her body. Acute fear and dread began flowing through her veins, pumping rhythmically.

She turned sideways abruptly, her breath coming out in gasps. She lifted her hands up to get out of the container but found that she was stuck. Her left hand moved naturally but to her right one, a needle had been attached to the back of the tricep. She jerked her hand repeatedly and in a frenzy, ripped the needle out. Sharp pain lanced through her hand but she paid no heed to it, her singleminded brain focusing only on the goal: save herself.

As soon as the needle was removed, an even louder beeping began, sending Darcy into an absolute tizzy. She frantically threw both legs over the container walls and jumped down. She got stuck on the way and found a needle attached to her left foot. She bent down and ripped it off, small trickles of blood flowing down her foot, and unsteadily on her feet, bounded towards the door.

As she took her first step, the door flew open.

She did not even wait to see who it was, her fear so great in magnitude. She turned back on her foot immediately and with her breath hitched began running unsteadily deeper into the room.

She heard multiple footsteps follow her and her heart thumped loudly to the point that she couldn't hear anything over it.

No.

Not again.

 _No_.

She stopped abruptly as she reached a dead end. She turned and involuntarily, keened low in her throat. She sank to the floor and crouched like a child, her hands clutching her folded knees close to her chest. In the same position, with her desperate sobs echoing in the room, she shuffled backward and stopped as her back hit the wall.

"No no no" she chanted to herself in a broken voice, tears falling from her tightly closed eyes, her head tucked inside her shoulders, her body curled into a ball. Her frame trembled with acute fear, nearly choking her.

Over her cacophony, she didn't hear the footsteps stop near her.

She felt a hand touch her head and she flinched, screaming loudly and shifted to the other side, her hands clutching at her hair. Her vision was obscured by tears. "Please don't", she sobbed, her voice fracturing. "Please please please."

"Darcy", a voice called out to her.

"Please", she sobbed.

"Darcy its me", a familiar voice.

Darcy shook her head repeatedly, desperation and fear overpowering her entire body.

She felt soft hands cup her shoulders. "Darcy, it's me". The voice broke.

Darcy didn't try to remove the hands this time, just kept on rocking her body, her eyes tightly closed, her body clenched tight.

The hands rose up and cupped her bent face. "Darcy, it's Jane."

The words penetrated something in her mind and Darcy froze.

Jane.

Jane.

 _Jane_.

Darcy's eyes flew open and she blinked through the tears, staring at Jane's face placed close to her.

No

No

This couldn't be real

_Was this another trick?_

She kept staring at Jane's face, the familiar set of eyes and nose, tear tracks running down her cheeks and pained eyes. Indecisiveness rose in Darcy's eyes and Jane saw it.

Her palms tightened against Darcy's cheeks. "You're safe", Jane whispered, her voice agonised. " _You're safe, Darcy_ "

Darcy swallowed.

"We found you Darcy", Jane spoke again, her eyes tearing. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Darcy's lips parted.

She kept looking at Jane.

"I'm safe", Darcy spoke slowly, as if in a trance.

Jane nodded.

"I'm safe", Darcy whispered.

" _I'm safe."_

And then she passed out.

\----

Darcy awoke to the sound of soft snores coming from her side.

She softly turned her head to the side to see Jane sitting in a grandfather chair beside the bed that Darcy lay in, sleeping in a sitting position, her head bent to the side, her mouth slightly opened.

Darcy groggily looked around the cosy room with its dim lamps and home-like environment; something very different from the place where she'd woken up before.

Darcy cleared her throat to dispel the rustiness.

Jane's eyes flew open and she stood up with a jerk, looking around haphazardly, and spluttering incoherently. "What-" and then her eyes fell onto an awake Darcy and she breathed out loudly, her body deflating with the movement and sinking back on the chair.

"Hi", Darcy spoke slowly, her voice hoarse.

"Hi", Jane spoke softly, her voice lilted with narrow hope. Jane shifted forward in her seat, her hand siding slowly across the bed to hold on to one of Darcy's.

"Are you", Jane spoke with trepidation. "Are you okay now?"

Darcy smiled weakly and then nodded.

"Could you help me sit?", Darcy asked Jane.

"Sure sure", Jane replied over-actively, standing up and placing a supportive hand on Darcy's back, pushing her up. Once Darcy was up, she scooted backwards to rest her back against the massive wooden headboard, pushing her braid to the side of her head.

Everything was quiet for some moments as Jane stared at Darcy's hands and played with her fingers.

Jane cleared her throat.

"I missed you." Darcy could hear Jane's voice thicken. "I missed you so so much." And Darcy felt a few of Jane's tears hit her hand.

"Hey", Darcy spoke, her voice low.

Jane looked up at her and with a bleak smile, wiped her tears away. "So", Jane swallowed.

Darcy couldn't help but smile a little. Jane had always begun important meaningful things with "so".

"I don't know what to say", Jane spoke, her voice low.

Darcy just looked at her friend and said nothing. There was nothing she could say that could soothe or calm Jane. Every word out of her mouth would cripple Jane beyond comprehension while Darcy, on the other hand had acquired an apathy of sorts. She couldn't feel much, she couldn't sympathise, she couldn't empathise; it was as if she was set in stone. If somebody asked her right now what happened to her during her time in captivity, she would recite everything without an inflection of emotion. But Jane or most people weren't ready to hear that yet.

So she asked what she wanted to know.

"How did you find me?"

Jane blinked back the slight tears in her eyes and pulled herself straight, her hands still clutching on to Darcy's.

"Let's talk about your health first", Jane replied softly.

Darcy just looked at Jane. "What about it?"

Jane tilted her head a little to the side. "You have been passed out since a week. And you've been in the cradle ever since", Jane spoke slowly. "The cradle could fix your broken right hand but it's still quite weak. We'll start physiotherapy on it right away." Jane jerked her head once, schooling her mind into objectivity. "The brand marks on your hands, however, are permanent." Jane breathed. "The metal used was unlike we had ever seen before. The cradle healed your tissue injury but it could not eradicate the upper branding."

Jane looked at Darcy to gauge her reaction but Darcy merely blinked.

"You've lost twenty two pounds and it will take some time for your brain to work at its natural frequency once again." Jane let out her breath in a gust.

Darcy's eyes flitted up to Jane. "Thank you", she spoke and paused, leaning forward a little. "How did you find me Jane?"

Jane looked down at the comforter and sighed.

"We had been looking for you since the time you went missing," Jane began and then cleared her throat again. "But we couldn't find a single trace on any of our radial mapping equipments." Jane blinked. "After days of searching, Steve was forced by the government to release a 'presumed dead' report but we had kept the machines on high alert for your blood tracker." Jane shook her head. "It showed nothing for days and then suddenly one day, when Dr. Cho was in the lab working on the solar cradle, she saw activity on the monitor and immediately recognised your code."

Jane was lost in thought. "For the past few days, we'd been having multiple hacks in our system that we had deflected but had still caused damage. Stark finally succeeded in tracing them back that very night. Turns out-" Jane cleared her throat, her head bending low. "It was Ian."

Jane's head snapped up to look at Darcy. "He had been with Hydra all along, acting as a double agent", Jane spoke rapidly, trying to diffuse the alarm growing on Darcy's face. "He confessed the night we caught him and so we got the exact location and entrance to the facility you were in and-"

"No _wait_ ", Darcy spoke suddenly.

She shook her head repeatedly.

Darcy couldn't believe it.

Jane started to speak but Darcy cut her off.

"But-" She was lost for words. "But they killed him _before my very eyes_."

Jane blinked, her alarmed face transforming into one of bewilderment.

" _What_?"

"Yes", Darcy nodded rapidly. "They drowned him when I refused to give them information."

Jane's breath hitchtted and she stilled.

_Refused to give them information._

Darcy realised her slip as she saw horror grow in Jane's eyes. Jane saw Darcy's awareness and she quickly shuttered her emotions.

"It was some sort of setup", Jane spoke haltingly. "You saw it happening right before you?" When Darcy shook her head "no" Jane nodded. "Just a setup."

"Well," Jane took a deep breath. "Then the Shield squadron infiltrated the Hydra base", Jane continued. "It took some time, but ultimately shield got hold of the facility but you were absolutely nowhere to be found." She paused. "It was only when shield sent the investigatory team, that they actually discovered that hidden room with the generators and machines. And" Jane paused again. "Maria and her team found _you_ there."

Jane blinked and looked up at the ceiling.

Darcy could remember bits and pieces of her last moments at the facility. She could remember electrocution and gunshots and the roof crumbling and James-

"Oh god I _have_ to", Jane exploded suddenly, standing up. She looked down at Darcy with a conflicted expression and took large deep breaths.

"See, they told me not to tell you this but you deserve to know it", Jane spoke. "When we found you", Jane struggled for words. "You weren't alone."

Darcy frowned.

Jane pursed her lips. "You were with Sergeant Barnes."

Darcy blinked and memories flitted through her mind, the glint of silver branded in her brain.

_Why was he there?_

"He held you", Jane continued slowly. "He was", Jane swallowed. "Curled over you as if he was protecting you. It's _bizarre_ I know but" Jane shook her head. "You were nearly boneless. Your neurons were fired up. Signs of high electrocution. You wouldn't have survived if he hadn't held you."

Jane breathed deeply. " _It's bizarre I know but._ " Jane couldn't find the right words so she just shrugged helplessly.

Darcy spoke nothing for some minutes. Jane sat down slowly back on the chair and bent low to put up Darcy's blankets that dragged on the floor.

"Where is he now?"

Jane stopped in the process and looked up at Darcy.

"In the NeuroCradle."

\----

James blinked against the onslaught of people entering the main area outside his cell.

He'd been awake for twenty eight hours in which he'd done nothing but stare at the utilitarian hallway. He remembered everything of course, his mind worked at a level higher than that of other people, and his brain churned with information.

He was having frequent mind splitting headaches and the amount of memories that were hitting him were huge. His mind was a dark dark place.

It was a surprise he was alive. He vividly remembered the moments before he passed out; Darcy, memories hitting his brain, body numbing shock, the roof falling down over them. He might be a supersoldier but a roof falling over him would definitely kill him.

He kept sitting on the metal bench in the cell, his eyes fixed to the men entering the compound, his back straight, left ankle resting on the right knee, elbows resting on the arms of the chair; a posture of superiority even in imprisonment.

Tony Stark led the pack of ten shield agents-James' trained mind automatically assessed the number and the people-and came to stand right in front of the bars, neck stiff, dressed in a formal suit, his hands held behind his back.

"The Winter Soldier", Tony addressed James.

James did nothing to acknowledge him except for looking at him. Tony blinked, a little disconcerted at the Soldier's penetrative stare.

"We recovered you from the Hydra facility", Tony spoke after a moment.

 _We_?

As if on cue, a man in leather jacket and jeans stepped out. As James' eyes rose to the man's face, he jerked involuntarily, the face sparking memories like wildfire.

_I had him on the ropes._

_I could do this all day._

_Buck!_

James blinked repeatedly, schooling his features into a composure. He looked at Steve and nearly lost his composure again, the turmoil and hope in the man's eyes rocking James to the core.

"You're credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years, Soldier", Tony spoke to James, interrupting his reverie. "What do you have to say about that?" Tony pretended to contemplate. "Little tidbits about your very productive activities perhaps?" Stark's voice was cold as stone.

"Cool it, Tony", Steve spoke.

Tony sighed. "And the mother hen rises." He mockingly moved to the side, bowing to Steve and letting him come to the the forefront. "Go on Mother Teresa, work your magic."

Steve pretended not to hear him, his attention directed towards the Winter Soldier.

"You know me", Steve spoke, his voice low, his eyes heavy with meaning.

James stayed silent.

He knew Steve, yes. But his mind was in tatters right now, frayed at the edges. He remembered things and he didn't remember things. And he didn't trust his own memory. It could all be a lie conjured by his mind.

_How could he possible know someone?_

Steve stepped forward. "Buck", his voice called out softly.

James jerked. "Don't call me that", his voice rasped across the room.

Agony flitted across Steve's face. "But that's your name", he spoke, his voice deep.

"No that isn't", James spoke through clenched teeth. He could feel his brain short circuiting.

_Stop._

He had to keep it at bay.

Steve stepped more forward, his chest touching the bars. "Bucky-"

And in a move as quick as lightening, James sprung forward like a lethal weapon and his metal hand clutched Steve's neck through the space between the bars.

He growled loudly, it's tenor raking across the halls.

" _Don't_ "

Tightening of the metal fingers around the neck.

" _Call_ "

A shake to the entire body.

" _Me_ "

The metal digging into the skin.

" _That_ "

And James let him go abruptly.

Steve stumbled back a few steps, coughing and spluttering, one hand holding his reddened neck, one hand on his chest. Three agents started to advance towards James but Steve stopped them with a raised hand. 

James stepped backward and sat back in his chair, his face rigid.

Steve looked up at James, his blue eyes imploring James' churning silver.

"We'll get you back buddy", Steve breathed and then turned and walked out of the room, taking his men with him.

Nobody was left in the room except for Tony Stark.

Stark assessed James like a specimen on display. He did that for a few moments and then nodded to himself and walked away, leaving James in his cell.

\----

James sat on the floor now, his legs stretched out, his back leaning against the chair leg.

He had no track of time here; it was just him and the white bulb. He'd gotten food from a Shield agent a while back; the agent hadn't come inside, just pushed the food in through the gap, staying as far away as possible. James had rapidly demolished the tray of food, gulping it all down in one go and come to sit back in the same position he was sitting now.

And his mind had churned.

Shield wanted information; otherwise, they would've disposed him off the very moment they found him. But he was a soldier. His loyalty didn't lie to Hydra; and neither to Shield. _His loyalty was to himself_. And he knew once he gave away the mission reports and the inner workings of the Hydra circuits, they'd dispose him off just the same or worse, put his mind back into the blender with just a few words.

Self preservation was his number one priority and he was not answerable to anybody. He'd wait a few days and then find means of escape, provided his mind returned back from the dark place it was currently in.

Nobody could be trusted.

All men had demons inside them, whether they were visible or not.

He looked up at the bright white light and the utilitarian but clean cell; well illuminated, well furnished. And the most important, he had freedom to move; not bound in a single position.

Unlike Darcy-

He heard footsteps in the semi lit hallway, and turned his head slightly to the side to see who was approaching.

A man walked towards the cell James was in, his silhouette clear against the background. As he walked closer, the bright light from James' room fell across the man's face and James' body tensed.

Steve stood before him in the same clothes as before, the leather jacket off.

Nobody spoke anything for a moment, and James kept his eyes fixed to the wall in front of him, studiously avoiding Steve's presence.

"I", Steve began and then stopped. "We know what they did to you", Steve spoke after a moment. "Hydra brainwashed you and turned you into" Steve paused. " _This_."

"Your rescue is highly classified information. If the government knew about you, they'd order your federal imprisonment right away", Steve spoke. "I will protect you from that. But you need to cooperate. Unless and until you don't help us in erasing all remnants of Hydra, Shield will see you as a dangerous liability; a liability it will want to remove."

James didn't say anything.

"You need to talk to me", Steve's voice nearly pleaded.

James scoffed, his eyes still fixed on the wall. "I don't _need_ to do anything." Bitterness poured off his words.

James turned his head slowly towards Steve, the joints in his neck cracking, and fixed his gaze on sincere blue irises.

" _Alles was ich will, ist frei sein._ "

And then he got up and turned his back to Steve and went to lie on the narrow bed beside the chair.

The lights dimmed automatically.

He could feel Steve linger there for a moment longer and then he heard shuffling and footsteps receding down the hallway.

James lay wide eyed in his cell, his body alert on a bed, afraid to sleep.

All his monsters came alive in his sleep; the monsters he was helpless against, the monsters that made him an animal, the monsters that defeated him every time.

He tilted his face up to look at the bars in his cell and the world beyond it.

_Alles was ich will, ist frei sein._

\----

Translations:

"Alles was ich will, ist frei sein."// all I want to be is free

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I Pinterest a lot and I come across pictures that really remind me of this story. So if a sufficient amount of people are actually interested (please leave a comment below, if you are), I will start a Pinterest board for this story and make the board public and all. 
> 
> All the love.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a quick update, yes? 
> 
> Plus, the Pinterest board is ready. It has a few pins now but I'll gradually expand it. Please see, like, repin or whatever we do on Pinterest/and interact with me about that on Pinterest itself.
> 
> The name of the board is 'the shadows of now' and my name there is 'sxxlver'
> 
> The link:  
> http://pin.it/cMSHins

James stretched his metal arm out and rotated it in both clockwise and anti-clockwise directions.

It felt better now; more rotatory power and higher reach. He moved his shoulder and felt acute fluidity, the metal rippling through his body like it was a part of its own. Grudgingly he admitted to himself that the engineers here were good.

He'd been on sedatives these past five days, which he'd consumed unknowingly in his food. A few hours after he'd eaten it, he'd felt its effects rack his body, making him sluggish and hazy, his mind a whirlwind, not even capable of conjuring up rage.

And then the men had entered his cell, still cautious, and worked on him for two days-two days of sluggishness as they injected him with more sedatives-fixing the damage caused to his metal arm and then for three days they had left his arm in a fluid. He'd slept or watched dully through most of it and in the back of his mind, registered a mild surprise; why were they fixing him?

From the fourth day, the effect of the sedatives had gradually started to wear off, and he had started to feel the anger that he'd neglected to feel till now. They'd deceived him; a sense of violation fuelled his body, rousing his wrath. How dare they?

It was the fifth day today, and James had fully recovered from the onslaught of sedatives. He looked up while still rotating his arm, right into the white light, and felt the pleasant burn on his eye balls.

It was nearly time for the panel to come again.

A panel of carefully curated specialists came to James usually two times a day-or when he was sedated, even four times a day-and asked him questions about his past and about Hydra. On the first two days of his sedation, he had been extremely affected and he'd given them some information. He'd resisted quite much but some had slipped out, and that only had served to enrage James more.

He heard footsteps round the hall and move towards him. He stood with his side towards the jail bars and continued swinging his arm as he heard the five middle aged men take their seats near the cell, a long table set up with five chairs.

Before they could begin, James turned as quick as a snake and slammed his metal arm into the a jail bar. The bar didn't budge but the men flinched as if struck by lightening. One of them got up ridiculously fast, his chair toppling backwards in his haste.

James slowly and gently gripped the bars with both his hands and looked up at the men, slightly hunched. He gave it time; staring into each man's eyes to convey his anger and let them feel it's intensity.

"This is what will happen to you", James spoke low in his throat. "If _any_ of you ever tries to sedate me again."

And then casually, he leaned back and walked to the chair in his room, his side again towards the men.

There was acute silence for a moment as the men gathered their bearings.

A man cleared his throat to begin the questioning and interrogation.

But James paid no heed.

His work was done.

It was radio silence from him now.

\----

Darcy wrapped her body in a towel, emerging out from under the shower head.

She carefully walked out from the glass chamber and into the dry part of the bathroom to fetch her clothes. She dried off her body, her movements quick and methodical, and just as she was about to put on her clothes, she caught her reflection in the full length mirror near the far end of the bathroom.

Darcy blinked, and then straightened fully, dropped the towel and turned to examine her naked body in the mirror.

Her eyes took in her legs, frail to look at; easily breakable. Her eyes wandered up to her abdomen where her ribs jutted out, the skin painfully thin and malnourished. She tried to escape them, she really did, but her eyes were drawn automatically to her arms, bright red crescents marking the skin in a random fashion, showing bright against her unnaturally pale skin.

Darcy's eyes left the mirror and came to rest on her actual arms. She lifted her right hand and with slightly twisted fingers, skimmed the branded area of her left arm. The puckered skin was rough to touch and Darcy's head tilted to the side as a foreign sensation surged through her body.

Her breath stuttered and she dropped her hands to the sides, taking deep breaths.

She was iron.

She wouldn't break.

She gathered herself and then walked towards the clothes stand, dressing herself up rapidly and efficiently, jeans and a full sleeved t shirt, to hide the marks.

She wrung her hair free of water droplets, and holding a towel in her arm, stepped outside into the tiny storage room which led to the main room via another door.

As soon as she opened the door, she heard voices emanate from the main room through the wooden connecting door.

"We need her for this Jane."

Darcy recognised the voice as Steve's.

"She's not ready yet", Jane replied, her voice exasperated.

Darcy stalled, wanting to hear more of the conversation.

"Nobody else will get through", Steve's voice rose a few octaves. "Trust me, I've tried."

Jane let out a sigh. "Steve you don't realise what she's become", Jane spoke in a low voice. "She does all the work that she was doing before but she's nearly emotionless." Jane's loud breathing could be heard. "She refuses to talk to the psychologist. She doesn't talk about her time there to me. We've all seen the marks on her hands, we know she's gone through horrors; she-" Jane's voice broke. "She's not _her_."

There was silence for a few moments.

"I know Ja-"

 _Thud_.

Darcy jerked and looked to her side. She'd been so absorbed in listening to the conversation, that she'd accidentally knocked over the stack of books kept in the corner of the room. She bent and righted them up and then walked to exit the room, a bit disappointed at having disrupted the conversation and thus, her own eavesdropping.

She entered the main room and saw Jane and Steve standing opposite to each other, completely still and quiet.

Darcy looked at Steve and he suddenly leapt into action. "Darcy", Steve spoke and gave her a tentative smile, shifting forward and shaking her head in an all engulfing grip. Steve and Darcy were good friends, but everyone knew Steve wasn't big on physical affection.

Steve took a step backwards and asked Darcy, "how are you feeling now?" His genuine concern shown through his words but Darcy couldn't concentrate on anything.

What wasn't she ready for?

"I'm fine", Darcy replied distractedly, her eyes falling on Jane's troubled ones. "What is it?", she asked to the both of them, unable to curb her curiosity, her eyes shifting from Jane to Steve and vice versa. None of them replied.

"What were you talking about?", Darcy asked again, her head tilting slightly.

She saw Steve's eyes flicker to Jane's. "It's nothing reall-" Jane started to speak but Darcy cut her off.

"Tell me Jane", Darcy spoke, her voice resigned. "I can handle it."

Steve broke the silence this time.

"Bucky is in the NeuroCradle", Steve spoke. Darcy jerked at his name but otherwise kept on listening. "You know his rescue is highly classified", Steve spoke, his eyes on the carpet. "He was rescued on the premise that he would give us information about Hydra and in turn, Shield would help him heal."

Steve's voice grew desperate. "But he refuses to respond to any of us. Whether it be me, Tony or the whole psychology expert panel Tony has hired." Steve paused. "We don't have much time. Shield is getting restless." She heard Steve swallow. "Moreover, he's being swallowed by his own mind."

Steve turned his face up to Darcy, his eyes tinged with desperation. "He needs somebody to talk to him and make him talk back." He took a step towards Darcy. "Only", Steve took a deep breath. "Only you can do that. You both share a bond forged during your captivity."

Darcy blinked in confusion. She hadn't told anybody about that.

Steve interpreted her confusion correctly. His voice dropped low. "He was on amphetamines this past week so that the surgeons could fix the irregularities in his metal arm. He talked about you that time."

Darcy simply stared at Steve.

Numb.

She felt numb.

"You want me to talk to him?", she spoke, her voice even like the tranquil water.

"Yes", Steve replied.

"And what makes you think that monster will talk to me?"

Steve flinched when she used the word "monster".

"Because he-"

"No Steve", Darcy interrupted him, her voice shuttered. "Not _he_. You call the soldier as _it_. He's not a man. He's a soldier." Her breath stuttered. "A master manipulator and a soldier; a soldier who kills people. If not for hydra, then for himself."

Steve just looked at her, pain for her colouring his face.

"Me talking to him won't accomplish anything", Darcy continued. "It would just make matters worse for both of us. I don't know why he saved me during your infiltration and neither do I care. Whatever he does or whatever of your old friend you see in him, for me he will always be a soldier who can never atone for what he did."

Darcy's breath was coming in large gasps.

She'd not shown so much emotion ever since she'd been coherent after her rescue.

She righted herself with effort and then she walked past Steve.

"Excuse me, but I need to have food."

\----

James' eyes were fixed on the wall before him with an intensity that was scathing.

"Did you or did you not have any relations with Marina Sotnikova?"

James chose not to reply to that, his eyes boring holes into the wall.

"We have reports", the man's voice continued. "Saying that after bedding Sotnikova, you proceeded to kill her."

There was a pause.

"Is that true, Soldier?", the man called out.

James again remained silent. He sat in his cell, with his side towards the panel of five people who were interrogating him.

Like he would give any answers.

Like he _could_ give any answers.

He remembered Marina in passing; little bits here, little bits there. Dark black hair hanging to her waist, the Russian accent extending to her scented English.

Did he kill her? _He did not know._

He chose to maintain a silence portraying defiance rather than expel the truth about his mind: he didn't remember his own past.

There was one way though, through which he could remember everything.

Carefully chosen words could make him remember anything for that moment in time.

But no.

No.

Never again.

"Soldier", another man on the panel called out. "It is imperative that you give us such information. Ms. Sotnikova was an integral part of the UN Sokovia Accords commission and held vital knowledge about it; knowledge that was lost with her death. We simply _need_ to know about Ms. Sotnikova."

James turned his head to the man who had spoken and saw surprise register in the man's eyes; James had turned his face towards the panel willingly for the very first time.

"And what would you hope to accomplish with the knowledge of her death?", James spoke, his voice rusty. "Recovery of the information that has gone with her?" He raised a single eyebrow in an arrogant questioning.

Hydra had not only made James into a soldier, but also a master at confounding minds. His every movement was purposeful, made to achieve things.

The man visibly shook himself. "We need to know how she died Soldier." The man spoke through clenched teeth.

"Give me a solid reason and I'll tell you." And James turned his head back to the wall.

A huge gamble.

Currently, James couldn't tell them a snitch about Marina Sotnikova if his life depended on it.

He waited for some sort of question but he heard murmured words and shuttered sighs, the papers being shuffled and moved. He heard the scraping of chairs and the footfalls of the panel moving down the corridor.

And then silence.

A day went by again.

And James blinked.

\----

Darcy walked in the corridors, her face set in its usual mask of emotionless alacrity.

She could see looks and hear whispers aimed her way; she was now a thing of interest, of course. With the amount of secrecy attached to her and the profile of the incident she'd been in, she'd become a source of morbid fascination for the other people working at Shield-a different sort of fascination from the superheroes they were used to.

She didn't have any views about it. The first day when she'd visited the cafeteria, Jane and Natasha had tried to shield her from it but after seeing how numb and cold she was about the whole issue, Natasha had backed off and made Jane step down too.

She made her way through the crowd assembled in the main corridor, heading for the medical facility for her usual physiotherapy appointment of the day. The doctor that usually took her appointment would be absent today but he'd left her a voice manual that would instruct her on all the exercises she had to do and in what order.

Darcy entered the medical room with little aplomb and nodded in recognition to the medical assistant standing off to the side. She walked to the desk that her doctor had occupied and as instructed, opened his drawer to procure a storage drive.

With the drive in hand, she moved to the room area and looked for empty rooms. She found one and as soon as she entered it, she inserted the drive into the playing device, switching it on and settling into a sitting position on the hospital bed.

She could feel a certain kind of tension settle in the room. She'd always done this with somebody but now, as she sat alone, she didn't feel as numb as she thought she'd become.

A voice sounded from the device, jerking Darcy from her thoughts and she straightened, ready to begin her therapy.

_Make a gentle fist._

Darcy held up her right hand and slowly curled her fingers into a ball. Her breathing was unnaturally escalated and she tried to righten it repeatedly, trying to take deep breaths.

_Wrap your thumb around your finger._

She slowly wrapped her thumb around her curled fist and she nearly choked with the sensations assaulting her. What was happening?

_Hold for 30 seconds and release._

Darcy counted to thirty under her breath and her eyes became a haze. She was back in the dark room, staring up at the ceiling and counting. She shook herself and after reaching thirty, opened her fist which had become too clenched.

_Stretch your palm out in front of you._

She gradually stretched her arm out.

Her breath staggered as the sleeve of her sweater rose up, revealing a scarred skin.

_Bend your fingertips down to touch the base of each finger joint, like a claw._

As Darcy's finger folded halfway to reach the edge of her palm, she exhaled loudly through her mouth.

_Hold for 30 seconds._

Darcy counted again.

Ceiling.

Dark.

Fear.

She started counting aloud in earnest, her heart pounding.

_Extend your thumb away from your palm._

As she extended her thumb away and let it stretch out, she didn't see her thumb stop. She saw her thumb move back and back and back, a metal hand forcing it down and down until

snap.

Darcy flinched backwards, her hand shaking.

_Bend your thumb across your palm so it touches the base of your small finger._

In a fugue, Darcy shakily pulled her thumb forward, and as it rested across her palm, her vision blurred.

She blinked rapidly to dispel the haze.

_Place your hand flat on a smooth surface._

She put her palm flat on the bed, slight shivering in her fingers.

_Gently lift one finger at a time and then lower it._

Darcy lifted her index finger up and as it rose up, she froze.

She kept on staring at the half inclined finger, her eyes in a trance. She saw a wooden table and a hand grasping hers. She saw cold metal tracing the lines in her palm. She saw the bones in the hand break suddenly.

A snap echoed in her ears.

The voice on the device continued to speak but her own screams from the past deafened her.

She sat frozen in the position, her face agonised as if from pain, her eyes glazed over, her breath coming in pants through an open mouth.

A beep sounded and she stood up abruptly, clutching her right hand close to her chest, nearly sobbing.

She looked around the room and as awareness hit her like her icy water, horror and anger stormed through her body.

She hastily shut off the device and nearly ran out of the medical facility, paying no attention to the people giving her curious and odd looks. She shoved people out of her way, her tunnelled mind in no state to expand and she ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, right into the living quarters, her right hand still cradled close to her chest. She opened her room door and turned to lock it behind her quickly, her mind not stopping to comprehend anything.

She kicked off her shoes on the way and ran to the bathroom, closing the door shut behind her.

And then, only then, did she look up at herself in the mirror above the sink, her hands still cradled.

She saw a madman staring back at her, eyes wide and crazed and wild, red veins starkly visible against the white of the eye, lips perpetually open as if in shock and cheekbones drawn high and tight against the thin skin.

And the madman didn't scare her or inspire fear in her.

It made her angry.

It made her feel contravened.

It made her feel as is she could set the whole world on fire.

It made her remember nights on end when she'd stared up at the ceiling, waiting for death, her pain incapacitating.

It made her remember the heated iron that was taken to her body.

It made her remember the electric shocks that wracked her frame.

It made her remember the dark nights when she had had a solace.

And she bent forward, taking her head in her hands, her fingers pulling at her hair, her eyes clenched tight,

and she _screamed_.

Loud and shrill and painful and vacant.

She screamed till her throat was raw and her ears hurt with the sound of her own cries.

She looked up at herself in the mirror, and as the madman transformed into a cold, cold vessel, a certain kind of perverse pleasure issued into her bones.

She'd see him.

She'd see him behind bars just as he'd seen him in chains.

She'd see him and mock at his condition.

She'd see him and let go of her pain.

She'd see him and satisfy the desire of revenge rising through her.

She'd see him and _rejoice_.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very important chapter even though there was no Darcy/James interaction because this marks the real reason Darcy would interact with him plus their state of minds before going into that sort of interaction.
> 
> Also, I remember lots of comments asking me about how Darcy and James would interact after being so messed up. I hope this is living up to your expectations.
> 
> All the love.


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For
> 
> Darcyland Positivity Week Day 3: I ship what I ship

It was the dead of the night.

A yellow bulb illuminated the bathroom. The sink had black water filled in it to the brim, gradually draining out. Droplets of black dye were spattered on the floor and a bowl and a brush were set on the floor beside the bathing area.

Darcy sat in the bathtub under the yellow light, her head tilted back and hair out of the tub, black drops dripping from her hair, creating a puddle on the floor.

Blink.

She twisted up a little, checking the time on the clock.

_One minute more._

She lay back against the tub, and tilted her head up to stare at the ceiling again.

Change.

She'd desperately needed a change.

She didn't want to see the same face in the mirror everyday.

The clock shrieked.

Darcy got up slowly and snapped the clock shut. She pulled the lever from the bathtub, letting the water drain and at the same time turned the tap nozzle on. She settled further down to let the tap water flow over her hair, creating a pool of black in the bathtub.

After some time, the black stopped, giving way to clear water. Darcy switched the tap off, and got up from the bath tub, wrapping herself up in a towel and moved to inspect the colour in the mirror.

Her eyes danced over the wet black hair that hung down her back and she touched them, slowly wounding her hand through them.

New.

New her.

\----

The wings of the helicopter whirred with increasing intensity.

Darcy stood in the waiting area of the helipad on top of the Shield headquarters, bundled in coats and jackets, a woollen cap resting on her head and her muffler draped across her neck. She craned her neck to look at Steve standing near the helicopter and talking to the pilot who was seated inside a helicopter.

After her meltdown at her physiotherapy session a day back, she'd gone to Steve in the night and told him that she would talk to James; no tether, just talk, and that too, on her own terms. Steve had instantly agreed but he'd been confused as well; Darcy's sudden agreement had confounded him but Darcy had refused any further explanation.

Jane hadn't known until the last moment.

This morning, when Darcy had dressed up for the cold winter of the route, she'd told Jane and seen her horrified at the prospect but seemingly remembering Natasha's advice to keep low, Jane hadn't said anything. Now, as Darcy stood bundled up in the slightly warmer waiting area, she waited for Steve's signal.

A hand came to rest on her back.

Darcy turned to look and gave the owner of the hand a small smile. "Maria", Darcy spoke in acknowledgement. Maria's lips tipped up at one end in her usual half smile.

"How are you now?", Maria asked Darcy, her eyes on the helicopter, her tone nothing but one garnering vital information.

And that was the reason Darcy could stand being with Maria. Maria didn't treat her like glass and didn't have any allusions to pity for her; Maria treated her like she treated everybody else, a certain aloofness and a cool concern.

Darcy nodded. "I'm great." Her voice held no inflections, just a monotone.

Maria did nothing for a few moments and then sighed. "Are you sure about this?"

Darcy looked at Maria and for the first time, saw something flickering in the woman's usually impassive eyes. Darcy blinked. "Yes."

And without question, Darcy saw that light flicker out in Maria's eyes; a belief in Darcy's judgement.

"Okay", Maria spoke in agreement, and patting Darcy on the back, left the area quietly.

Darcy focused her attention back to Steve again and saw him turn and wave.

She stepped out of the glass door and onto the helipad floor, walking towards the helicopter, her hair flying out from under her cap, the cold wind nearly freezing her face in the dark dawn. She reached the helicopter and with Steve's help, hoisted herself up onto the seat in the compartment. Steve followed after her and closed the door shut behind him, a sudden silence settling in its wake as the noises of the wind and the helicopter wings disappeared.

Steve turned in his seat and told the pilot to start.

He turned back to her, and looked straight into her eyes, his clenched hands on his knees, the tendons standing out.

"Are you ready?"

Darcy blinked.

" _Yes_."

\----

The shaft ledges slammed against the metal protection, their screech reverberating across the entire prison area, echoing in every cell.

James looked up from his position where he sat on the chair-his chin resting in his flesh palm, the elbow of which rested against the arm of the chair-and saw a broken ventilator ledge and wind whooshing through it.

"There's a storm coming", a man on the panel called out. James had come to know him as Derek.

James turned his head back to the panel, the bored look intact in his eyes as he made eye contact with Derek, an old man with a wrinkled face and white hair and soft brown eyes. James shrugged and then trained his gaze forward again, his eyes fixed on a spot above the men's heads.

"Soldier, this is our eighth day of interrogation", the man on the extreme right spoke; Sanders. "And you've been extremely uncooperative. So far-"

Sanders stopped suddenly, and the index finger of his right hand came to rest on the earpiece fitted in the inside of his ear. His head was tilted a bit to the side, all his concentration on listening to whatever was coming down the command centre. A frown creased his forehead.

"But I th-"

His lip lifted up in a crook.

"But wh-"

Exasperation was evident on Sanders' face.

"Fine."

He removed his hand from the earpiece, and started to gather the papers. "We need to clear this area", he spoke to his colleagues while he filed the documents strayed on the table. They cast him confused looks. "We have instructions", Sanders said, his tone off, effectively shutting out questions that would have been aimed his way.

The other men on the panel got up hesitantly and after clearing and collecting their documents, and getting the table and chairs placed again in the store room, started to file out as one, emptying the area outside the cell.

James gave no reaction, keeping his confusion to himself. His face was clear, a mask of calm deceptiveness as he assessed the situation, his eyes surveying the silent and empty surroundings.

He heard footsteps, light slow footfalls round the hall and he maintained his stance, his one leg folded on top of the other, right elbow on the arm of the chair, two fingers skimming his lips in contemplation, eyes impassive.

He could see a silhouette now and and gradually as the light cleared, he narrowed his eyes a bit to look at who was coming.

The light brightened,

and

James' breath left him in a blow.

No.

_No._

_Why was she here?_

For a few seconds, he let his mask slip unknowingly, so overcome by the foreign emotions engulfing him in their cloud.

He had studiously tried to avoid thinking about her and it had been a hard task-for by some force of nature, he felt some responsibility towards her and she stuck to his thoughts-but for a man who'd trained himself to fall asleep even on a rock in intense sunlight, this was a task that was accomplished.

Now, as he saw her, he felt as if he had been hit by a tank in the chest. Thinking about her was one thing. Seeing her was completely another. All the emotions that he never even knew existed inside him bubbled up to the surface: guilt, hurt, pain, anger and in the vast plethora of feelings, digging deeper and digging deeper, there was a small joy. 

His silver eyes met ignited brown ones and everything in him became shuttered; he regained the mask he had lost for a few seconds and his face became smooth as a river again.

His eyes fell on her braided hair, and with a shock he realised that they were ink black.

And a little fear niggled at the back of his mind.

He couldn't give her this power over herself.

He couldn't lose his mask.

_It was all he had._

\----

Darcy stood still as a rock.

Her feet were frozen to the floor.

She had imagined this moment many times in the night, and for all her musings, she had never envisioned her becoming a statue in front of him. She'd envisioned screaming and fighting and hurting but she felt paralysed now.

Fear creeped across the edges, a sudden intense fear borne of instinct; and in that moment, she hated herself. She hated how a look at that solid silver could have her cowering in fear, she hated how she couldn't speak in the face of who did her wrong, she hated how absolutely spineless she felt in this moment.

And for the first time in her life, fear empowered her.

She swallowed deeply and blinked to gain her vision back from the snatches of subversion and forced herself to look, really look, at James; and aggravation seized her.

He looked just the same, his hair pulled back in a bun, the same strong cheekbones staring back at her, the same powerful body sitting in a chair, a frame coiled, while she, on the other hand, looked like a shell of her former self.

Black circles lined her eyes for she kept awake throughout the day, sleeping was a hazard she wasn't willing to take; her nightmares haunted her. She'd lost an incredible amount of weight. Her skin, which had once shown so much colour, was now pale and nearly translucent near the corners of her eyes. Her hair were perpetually pulled back in a braid, the lack of nutrition making them thin and brittle.

Her eyes fell to his metal arm and she slowly sank to the floor, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, her eyes fixed on James' in a glaze.

James looked at her, his eyes fixed on her every move, and she startled, feeling a sense of familiarity at his hyper awareness. And then James followed suit, standing up from the chair and sinking to the ground, sitting in a position identical to Darcy's.

"The only way", Darcy began, her voice low and she saw how James was affected by it in some way. "For you to be free of this place, is to give them," Darcy shook her head and corrected herself. " _To give us_ , the information we need."

Darcy continued speaking, her eyes fixed on the light beside the cell bars. "We know about how you were brainwashed by Hydra, and our psychologists will work with you on that. You just need to give the-, us, the information we need."

There was a breadth of silence in the room and Darcy looked up at James, her eyes suddenly burning, and she steeled herself.

"That's what Steve wanted me to say", Darcy spoke, low in her throat. "Not me."

And very slowly Darcy got up and walked towards the cell, coming to stand up near the bars, her eyes fixed on James'. And then she crouched by the bars, her knees touching the impenetrable metal, balanced on her haunches. She methodically folded the sweater up both her arms and as the white light fell on her bare arms, the red crescents that marred the skin of both her arms from the shoulder to the near wrist became crystal clear against her pale skin.

She knelt forward, her knees on the ground, directly in front of James, so close she could nearly taste his scent, and she stretched her arms out through the bars and into the cell, the distorted skin standing out.

But he was still too far away to touch them.

"Do you see them?", Darcy whispered, her voice as if she was in a trance. James didn't reply, just kept on staring at her arms.

"Do you?", Darcy spoke into the silence. James did not reply, his body frozen and locked.

Darcy thrust her hands forward with more force, her shoulder slamming against the bars, but she paid no attention to the pain.

"Do you?", she screamed, her voice scratchy and raw.

Something ferocious was driving her and dimly, a small part of her registered surprise at how much emotion she was showing, but the rest of her was lost to its clutches, a manic desperation.

Pin drop silence settled in the room, only Darcy's angered breaths audible.

James slowly extended his flesh arm forward, his fingers creeping towards Darcy's extended hands at an agonisingly slow pace. Darcy watched in a trance as his hand got closer and closer. His finger rested breadths away from Darcy's, a pause settling in on the moment, and his eyes fell on the crooked shape of her right hand.

He moved to close the gap between their hands, shifting in his seat on the floor. His finger skimmed hers and the spell broke. Darcy snatched her hands away, her eyes wide, horrified, and she fell back on her haunches, clutching her hands to her chest.

"How dare you", Darcy spoke, her voice shaking with fury. "How dare you touch me." Her voice was a shrill shriek.

And something snapped in James.

He leaped towards Darcy, and got as close as he could to her, clutching the prison bars, the tendons in his wrist standing out, him on his knees.

"I saved you", he rasped, his face twisted in fury. He rattled the bars.

"I"

 _Rattle_.

"Saved"

_Rattle._

"You"

 _Rattle_.

In the control room, where men were watching the exchange on video feed, most of them got up in alarm, nearly barging out to sedate the Winter Soldier. But Steve stopped them, his eyes riveted to Darcy and James on the screen.

The rattling did nothing to scare Darcy.

She rose up on her knees and leaned close to him through the bars, getting on her knees and looking up at him, their height difference apparent.

"You did not do me a favour", Darcy scathed. "Do not, _for a second_ , think that you helped me." Darcy's breaths grew shallow. " _You did not._ "

Her hands grasped the bars, resting just below where James' rested. "Death is better", she scoffed. " _Far far_ better, than how I am living right now", she spoke. "I cannot sleep, I cannot smile, I cannot _live_."

James bent lower, his head now level with hers and he whispered, the whisper of his cold breath blowing across her face, " _welcome to my world_."

Darcy's breath stuttered and then it hitched.

And then she threw back her head and she laughed.

She laughed and she laughed and she laughed until her laughter became hysterical, a madness seeping into it, no semblance of humour in it. Tears wet her eyes and dripped down her cheeks and she looked at James again, blinking to dispel the teary film in her eyes.

"I hope you _rot_ in your _world_ ", she spoke slowly, venom dripping off her words and then she got up from the floor, stumbling a little, and looked down at him, as he remained in his position.

James turned his head up to look at her and broke the silence. "Do you see how we are at opposite ends now?", he spoke, low in his throat.

Darcy smiled, a grotesque twist of the lips, tears still silently streaming down her cheeks.

" _Never_ ", she shook her head. "We are not at opposite ends." She shook her head again. "I am not hurting you and you are not hurting."

And a broken soul walked out of the room,

leaving a fractured one in her wake.

\----

"We have to get them to meet again."

An ice cube fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Are you crazy Cap? Did you even see what even happened today?"

"Yes I saw what happened today." A deep breath. "That's why I want them to meet again."

"Have you lost your mind?", Tony replied, bewildered, turning to Steve, his drink in his hand. "Have the ninety years finally caught up to you?"

Steve looked up, his blue eyes solemn. "Bucky lost control today", Steve spoke, swallowing. "He let his mind _think_ , today, Tony." Steve got up. "We tried to do that by various triggers and none of them penetrated." Steve looked at Tony. "Only today, _only today_ , did he show signs of being", Steve paused. "Of _being human_."

Tony blinked. "And what about Darcy, Steve?", Tony asked, his voice gentler now. "Has she no say in this?," Tony questioned. "Did you see her today?"

"Darcy hasn't shown any emotion since the time she has returned", Steve spoke haltingly. "Today was the first time I saw her express herself, the first time she spoke so much, _for God's sake_ , the first time she even showed that her time in imprisonment messed her up."

Steve turned his head up, looking at Tony.

"We have to get them to meet again."

\---

[graphic to go with this ](http://fibonaccinumbers.tumblr.com/post/147532619549/darcyland-positivity-week-day-3-i-ship-what-i)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was a very pivotal point many people were waiting for. Tell me what you think because writing this was tough and I'm not sure if it works or not.
> 
> All the love.


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is very very close to 10k hits and I absolutely cannot believe that SO MANY PEOPLE are reading this. THANK YOU.
> 
> And further to mark this, I'm opening a giveaway of sorts where you can request any fictional story for any pairing (with/without a prompt) on my tumblr (fibonaccinumbers) because I just want to thank all the readers. This starts now and ends on August 5th. 
> 
> Please don't let this fail :)
> 
> All the love.

Wind whirred ferociously through the cellar pipelines, it's sounds creating an eerie screech across the entire arena.

The caretaker got down from the viewing area, drenched despite his rain coat, and walked over to the party standing near the cell exits, creating a puddle behind him. "Mr. Stark", he called, as he walked towards the group of people huddled together. He took the top of his raincoat off. "The storm is still going steady. Not the ideal conditions for any sort of flight. You'll have to wait this one out."

Tony's mouth curled in distaste. "What about the heli40?" 

The caretaker shook his head. "Not possible, sir."

Tony sighed and looked at Steve and Darcy and the rest of the Shield agents who'd accompanied them. 

"It's okay", Steve spoke to Tony and then turned to the caretaker staff assembled there. "What does the weather forecast indicate?"

"No clear skies for at least two days, Captain", one of them replied.

"You have rooms right?", Darcy spoke, her eyes fixed on Tony. Tony nodded. "Well then, fix us up with rooms and we'll be fine", Darcy said.

Tony pursed his lips and shrugged. "Well that's the only thing we can do right now", and he turned on his footstep, gesturing for them to follow him further into the NeuroCradle.

It was strange, Darcy contemplated as she walked through the brightly lit hallways and past the large amount of people working in them, that after her imprisonment and consequent return, her voice had begun to be heard. She was no superhero and she was no brilliant scientist, so throughout her work experience as Shield, she'd been considered a sidekick and she'd been fine with that. Now, her words were valued and her opinions heard. 

As if, imprisonment made you smarter.

As if, imprisonment made you an expert of some sorts.

As if, imprisonment necessitated hearing your voice.

\----

It's the same dream she's been having for the past two days.

She knows it's a dream yet it all feels so _excruciatingly_ real. 

She's back on the plank in the dark room and her body is in pain, such acute, _fresh_ pain. She can feel déjà vu and a slight awareness that this is a memory but her head tilts to the right and her eyes fall on the Winter Soldier a few feet away, his arms extended towards the brazier, heating up the iron for another go and all awareness of any sort evaporates like the slight smoke curling around the red end of the iron as it is lifted up from the brazier; ready for use.

Darcy tries to scream but she finds her throat too sore. She writhes a bit but she's all tied up as usual and she watches as the Winter Soldier moves closer to her, the iron rod held in one hand and a voice strikes her mind.

_Don't tighten your arms when the iron touches you. Taut skin makes the iron penetrate much more deeper than loose skin. It'll hurt more that time but it'll hurt less later._

And she lets her body go loose,

as the iron descends.

*****

Darcy awoke with a sharp gasp.

Her breaths were loud and labored in the room and they echoed against the backdrop of the raindrops hitting the window and the ceiling in her room at the NeuroCradle.

She was tangled in the bedsheets, her hands holding her legs that were curled up to her chest tightly. Sweat dripped down her body, her t shirt and pajama moist. Her teeth were clenched tight and eyes frozen wide and she could feel her heart beat thudding through her chest. She felt paralyzed and cold. So, _so_ cold.

A shiver escaped her and she unthawed slowly and slowly, and let her arms loose. Her legs slipped down and she lay supine on the bed, spread eagle, her legs and hands bonelessly scattered on the sheets, her eyes wide open and the bedsheets clinging to her damp body.

She stared up at the ceiling and calmed her breath. 

And as her breath came back to normal, she felt a strange pull at her gut. She wasn't a vengeful or mean person by principle, but something in her snapped every time she woke up in the morning, her sleep time ranging from three to five hours, her eyes looking at the same sallow face and a bone weary tiredness accompanying her every step. 

She turned her head to look at the alarm clock.

_1 am._

She swallowed and got up slowly. There were odd sensations creeping over her. It was as if she was drunk; she knew she was doing something stupid yet she was doing it anyway. She rose up from the bed in a trance, her breath shallow and her body hit by a loss of kinaesthetic sense. Her eyes blinked rapidly but she was in a place far far away from where sanity rested.

_Step_

_Step_

The room door opened with a creak and her heart sped up as she stepped outside, the cold settling into her.

_Step step step_

Her legs moved as if of their own accord. Her bare feet made a wisp of sound against the floor and she clasped her hands behind her back. She took the first flight of stairs and then went up and up into the tower and stopped at the stairs.

_Should she take the elevator or not?_

She decided not to, as that would make some sort of sound and continued moving up the stairs, bare foot and in a pajama and an oversized long sleeved shirt. When they'd decided to spend the night in the NeuroCradle, they'd been assigned rooms. But they'd had no clothes to sleep in. She'd gotten the pyjama from the hospital ward but all the shirts in her size had been half sleeved and so she'd asked Steve for his shirt, which he'd given to her obligingly.

She stepped up the last flight of stairs and moved through the corridors, her eyes seeing everything and nothing at the same time. She went past the doors and then reached the dead end of the corridor, where she came to an abrupt halt.

_What if she did not have access to the main door?_

Very slowly she put her index finger out and placed it on the sensor next to the mechanical door. The sensor beeped and Darcy stilled. And then it gave another beep and the door opened silently.

Darcy let out a relieved breath and slowly moved inside the hallway, closing the door behind her. Her heart sped up at the sight of the grey flooring and bars she'd seen just mere hours ago. And she walked.

She rounded the corner and came to a halt, her eyes fixated on the bars of the cell. The lights were dim and she could only see limited things, but she could make out James' silhouette lying on the bed.

_Was he sleeping?_

A swift anger rose in her. And she marched towards him, her ire rising by the second and she stopped at the foot of his cell.

How dare he? 

How dare he sleep after robbing her of hers?

"Please don't."

Darcy stilled.

She held her breath and inched closer.

"Don't speak the words."

James spoke in his sleep and he twisted and turned on his bed, his hands clutching the sheets. He screamed out loud, guttural and agonized and Darcy flinched.

"I don't want a new body", his voice pleaded. " _Kill me_." He screamed again, a sound punctuated in his deep voice. "No I shan't speak German." He shook his head repeatedly. "No I _shan't._ "

His body convulsed up as if he was being electrocuted and Darcy felt it in her gut-she knew electrocution _oh so well_ -and she instinctively jumped forward, her hands clutching at the bars; a reaction borne of knowing the electricity zing through your veins and make you a helpless heap of limbs.

He screamed again, his voice piercing the silence and Darcy's hands gripped the bars tightly.

He convulsed again-his chest pulling upward and slamming back on the bed-and he stopped screaming altogether.

And Darcy knew it. She knew how it felt to be robbed of speech, she knew how it felt to be broken against your will, she knew how it felt to be cracked and fractured to such an extent that no sound could escape your mouth.

He stayed still for a few seconds and then his body became rigid. 

"I remember that man", he spoke, low in his throat, and his voice sounded different, as if it knew only silence. "Who is he?"

He stayed silent for a few seconds again and then he started jerking on the bed violently. He thrashed and his metal arm hit the wall, creating a loud clank. He growled while he thrashed and the growl sounded like a wounded animal. And then his sounds changed; they became the sounds of the predator.

Darcy was frozen and her mind whirled. Pain, absolute deep pain, pervaded her mind; the man, the _poor poor man_. Yet a resistance warred against the ache rising in her; a resistance stopping her onslaught of emotion towards James, a resistance prompting her to see him in the same light she always did-the killer.

A huge thud sounded as James fell from the bed and with reflexes as fast as lightening, he stood up, tense, his eyes wide open and he regarded Darcy with solid eyes. And then he attacked her, covering the distance between the bars and the bed in milliseconds, the metal hand going through the bars and clasping her waist, while the flesh one clasped her neck, and he pulled her close with rough force, her body hitting the metal bars and his body in places where the metal bars didn't exist.

Darcy stared at him with wide eyes and then she breathed softly through her nose.

She felt no panic.

_She had it in control._

Very slowly, she raised her hands up in the air so as not to alarm him, and in a movement that took eons to occur, she placed her hands against his chest; the pads of her fingers, then the palm. He jerked, yet Darcy persisted, moulding her hands to his chest, her eyes riveted to the scene. 

Slowly, her hands started making their path up his chest to his shoulder, skimming at first, and then pressing into the indents. She felt his grip loosen and she watched in fascination as her hands rose up, graceful in their endeavor, and clasped his face. Her small fingers dug into his skin and it was a startling contrast, the ruggedness and the fragility. Her eyes bore into hers and Darcy felt a poorly sewn mass of contradictions: wonder, power, fear.

" _James_ ", she whispered into the deafening silence, her breath expelling in silent wisps to the labored tandem of his exhales. 

He blinked once.

And then again.

And as if he had been drowning all this time, his breath came up to him at once and his entire body shook. He nearly jumped backwards and his body curled over itself, his back rigid. He looked down at his hands and then at Darcy and she saw absolute horror register in his eyes. His eyes flitted to her neck where he'd grasped her and he saw a thin blue bruise start to bloom and undiluted revulsion for himself colored his face.

_What had he done?_

Darcy swallowed and looked at him and she felt herself jerk out of a reverie.

She stumbled back a step. 

_What had she done?_

No.

No.

_No._

"Darcy", he whispered, his voice agonized.

Darcy shook her head repeatedly, horrified at herself. She stumbled back another step and she turned on her foot and she ran.

She ran all the way back and didn't look behind even once, her sobs drowning out any thoughts. She couldn't sympathise with him. She wouldn't.

And she ran.

She ran to the upper floor and ran towards the balcony. And only when she stood in the pouring rain, getting completely drenched, her tears and the rain mixing into one, did she feel the cold grip of what she'd done settle into her bones.

Never.

_Never again._

 

\---

"We are not leaving today."

Darcy looked up from the chair she was sitting on in the room she'd been allotted. Tony stood at the doorway, half in half out.

"The weather's not cleared out", he spoke in response to her questioning gaze, his tone loud to be heard over the clap clap clap of the raindrops on the walls outside. Dawn had broken early and it was nearly ten am but the cloud cover made it appear as if it was night. 

"Okay", Darcy spoke and went back to the book she was reading. She felt Tony dawdling by the door and looked up at him again. He was clearly struggling to say something.

"What is it?", Darcy asked.

Tony looked down at his feet and then looked up at her again. He shuffled his feet. "Uh", he stopped and swallowed. "We want you to meet-"

"Okay", Darcy spoke before he could complete.

She saw surprise register on Tony's face. " _Okay_?", he asked, incredulousness creeping into his voice and his eyes bulged in surprise.

Darcy didn't give any explanation. She nodded and then giving him a small tilt of her lips, went back to her book. Eventually, she heard the door shut and footsteps leave the room, and she placed her hand against the book she was reading to reach out for a highlighter. The highlighted words shone against the text in the book she'd found in Tony's study that he maintained at both the Stark Tower and the NeuroCradle. 

_Stockholm Syndrome._

\----

The sound of pouring rain could be heard over the sound of people in the hallways.

Darcy walked through the corridors and into the shelled door with silent purpose. She acknowledged the faces she knew with a nod and the patent tilt of her lips and internally, thanked the hair she'd coloured black. With the hollowed out face-where cheekbones jutted out in places they never did before-and ink black hair pulled back in a braid, she looked radically different from what she looked like before. And that was a blessing, for now people took time in recognizing her and before they could recall that the thin frail female was Darcy and give her piteous or fearful or plain curious looks, she would have walked away.

The crowd of people receded as she descended further and further into the building-moving from the residential areas to the main work centre to the area where nearly no one ventured-until she was the lone person in the stairwell. 

Her slightly wet sneakers made slight squeaking sounds against the floor, as she stopped and pressed her index finger to the sensor board next to the heavy metallic door. The sensor beeped and the door opened. Darcy felt a moment of unrest but she quashed it immediately, stopping herself from thinking about last night, and stepped into the cold cell area.

She walked quietly to the dead end where the hall turned and stopped.

James was sitting on the chair, wide awake, his head cupped in his flesh hand as if he was contemplating something, fingers to his lips, and his eyes impassive and fixed on Darcy. 

Neither of them spoke anything for some moments.

Darcy straightened herself and tucked Steve's shirt tighter around herself and walked over to his cell, maintaining a safe distance, and dragged over a plastic chair from the corner, settling in it. She crossed her legs and folded her hands on her lap, all the while looking at James.

"Why are your hair black?", James spoke suddenly, his lips barely moving.

Darcy looked at him and then smiled a smile devoid of humor. She shrugged. "Why would I tell you that?"

James pursed his lips, his eyes concentrated on Darcy. His eyes flitted for a second, eyeing the shirt and then came to rest back on her hair. "A question for a question", he spoke and straightened, crossing his legs, his right ankle resting on his left knee, his hands coming to fold on his lap; a position nearly identical to Darcy's. "And an answer for an answer."

Darcy did not let anything show on her face but she felt confused and cautious. Why was he cooperating? What was his ploy now? If he could play a game, she could too. But in the back of her head, a small relief registered; thank god he didn't mention last night.

She tilted her head to the side. "Okay."

James nodded and gestured to her with his head. "Why the black hair?"

Darcy blinked. She made herself completely numb, her voice slipping into a monotone, and then she spoke with complete honesty, "I couldn't bear to see the same miserable pathetic, broken face again and again in the mirror." She paused. "Change." She swallowed. "I needed a change from me."

For his part, James did not show any reaction, just kept on staring at her.

"My turn", Darcy spoke. "Was killing Ian a ploy to get me to tell you things _because I know_ he was the mole?"

James stayed silent for a moment. "Yes", he spoke and then took in Darcy's gaze which showed that she was clearly expecting much more than just a one word answer. "It was a pre-shot footage", he added. "We weren't sure whether you'd accept it or not but captivity and fear makes people accept strange things." He paused. "And you did."

He did not give Darcy time to process this. "How old are you?"

Darcy very nearly let the surprise show on her face but she stopped at the last moment. 

No reactions.

"Twenty four", she responded and asked as quickly as James had. "Who was the man who came to give me food and water?"

James looked at her and then slowly, he smirked. "The man you killed?"

Darcy felt a minor note of revulsion at that and then she nodded.

"One of Gamow's slaves, you could say", James spoke. "Born and bred in Hydra captivity; knows nothing about the world but Hydra." James shrugged. "Why did you kill him?"

Darcy swallowed; he was pulling out the big guns. "The only way to escape", she spoke. "I wanted to be free." She saw James' eyes harden further. "Besides", she added nonchalantly. "You'd given me pills the nights before, I felt no pain."

And she watched as James stiffened. She leaned forward. "Why did you give me those pills?"

James spoke nothing for a moment and then looked up at her. "You were in pain." Darcy jerked in surprise at the simplicity of the answer. And he spoke nothing beyond that, as if that was supposed to be the answer. Darcy waited but he stayed silent.

"My turn", he spoke abruptly. "Why did you try to escape knowing that you couldn't?"

Darcy shrugged. "Again," she spoke. "I wanted to be free; even if that lasted for mere seconds." And then Darcy dropped the bomb.

"Why did you break my fingers after that?", she spoke slowly, her voice as if she was putting a child to sleep. "Why did you break my fingers after giving me those pills?" Her voice didn't rise one bit, a soft lullaby drifting through the air and the tension in the room rose drastically, nearly stifling in its thickness.

She saw James tense and realized she'd reached his limit today but she desperately wanted these answers, and she was willing to go to any limits for this. 

"James?", she crooned, her eyes fixed on his. This was the second time she'd said his name after last night and she saw it in the way his brow hardened.

He looked at her and then his face transformed; his lips twisted into a growl. "I didn't know what I was doing", he spat, and his voice grated across the room.

Darcy couldn't control herself this time. She leaned further forward and whispered, " _lies_ ".

James head snapped to her and his eyes took on a different light altogether. "It wasn't me", he spoke, his voice scathing. "It was  _not_ me."

Darcy felt shock reverberate through her system; both because of what that implied and because of the pure emotion in James' voice but she refused to acknowledge it. She'd read this is what happened in cases of Stockholm syndrome when the victim started identifying with the torturer and she wouldn't let that happen.  Fear creeped over her because in the corner of her mind, she could feel his words collaborate with the words he'd been speaking in his sleep last night and a vague understanding began to form in her head. She shook her head to dispel it and stood up abruptly.

She'd reached her limit too.

She looked at him and swallowed. "Lies", she spoke, her voice shaky, and she walked out of the room. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a sidenote: Darcy's fingerprint was accepted because unbeknownst to her, she had authorized entrance to most places.


	14. XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't write this chapter. This chapter wrote itself. And I have no bloody clue what I've done.

Darcy stood at the mechanical door, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the sensor.

Night hung heavy and a stipulated amount of light illuminated the arena, casting an eerie glow across the stark white walls. The metal door nearly gleamed under the flashes of light, a beacon calling out to her.

She felt like she was on the frays of a dream; not a dream, but a dream of a dream. Everything seemed unintentionally bright and her eyes burned with lack of sleep. She'd been bingeing on coffee and pills all day, her system running on a combination of a certain numbing high and piercing awareness.

Darcy swallowed and pressed her fingers to the sensor. It beeped, the door opened silently and Darcy stepped inside.

In a room across the building, a glow chimed on the monitor, informing it's viewers that the NeuroCradle had been accessed and provided a live video feed of the inside of the cradle.

Tony and Steve moved to the monitor, the tension in the room palatable. "Let's hope this goes better than the last", Steve muttered and Tony nodded in agreement.

They had had four top notch psychologists review the video tapes from all the meetings and the general consensus had been such that their meeting was a risk, but one that was promoting catharsis, something the both of them desperately needed. And so it had been agreed upon that the storm was going to be used as a leverage to expand their interactions and monitor them.

Tony sighed. "This still doesn't feel right", he muttered, fiddling with a loose screw socket.

Steve looked up at him with pained eyes. "Nothing does."

\----

James sat awake on the floor of his cell, his eyes wide open, his legs crossed, his back straight, his hands folded together in front of him.

He felt singularly nothing.

He remembered last night vividly; in all its crimson colours and activities. But he refused to think about it. Something in that act had been so horrifying for him, made him so utterly repulsed of himself, that he couldn't make himself contemplate it in the slightest.

And the worst part? He knew what that _something_ was.

The thing that gave him mild relief was that Darcy was unwilling to discuss it further too.

But every few moments, the memory of the night permeated his mind like wildfire, setting the fringes of his nerves aflame. The sound of his name resonated in his skull, and shattered it's configurations every once so often. It felt like his name was a thread and he wasn't yet close enough to grasp it. Once he did, he thought, and his range of thought stopped there. Well, he didn't know what he would do.

He had started to remember quite many things-significant and small-and it was both a boon and a curse. You know what he wished for? He wished that he could sift through the past like a sieve and choose what he wanted to remember and what he didn't. He'd pick the sweetness and sourness and leave the bitter behind.

And his name, oh, his name.

Nobody had called his name out in a long long time.

And not with such belief.

He heard footsteps round the corner and he straightened. He knew exactly whose footsteps it were; the footfalls had been subconsciously etched into his brain, and he could tell their rhythm and force from a mile away. Something in him ticked like a time bomb.

He had been waiting for her.

And she had come.

\----

Darcy walked slowly to the cell, her footsteps slower and former than before.

He was awake, just like she'd expected him to be.

She stopped in front of the bars and moved to the side, sinking down on the floor, to rest her back against the smooth wall to the side, curling her legs up and holding them by the knees to her chest.

She stared right ahead to the opposite wall, while she could feel James' gaze on her.

They stayed silent for some time, and it was strange, Darcy mused, that there was absolutely nothing in the air-no tension, no fear, no nothing-just the air and a soft silence. It felt like she was on a road trip with her shadow with nothing to talk about for both of them already knew each other.

"A question for a question", she spoke softly into the quiet and didn't wait for him to agree.

"Where were you when they electrocuted me?"

And Darcy softly marveled at it all. It was strange that she didn't even fumble or balk or she didn't even feel her heart beat through her ears when she asked such questions. She was monotonous; just like her mother's corpse had been.

"Not there", James replied. "Some mission."

"Where you killed people?", Darcy asked with a slight humorless laugh, unable to not voice the implication the answer possessed.

"It's my turn now," James replied and before she could speak anything, he shot off a question. "Who taught you how to emancipate that caretaker with a nail?"

"Natasha", she spoke. "The Black-"

"-Widow", James finished for her.

Darcy raised an eyebrow at him but she was no good at it. So it came off looking crooked, her right eyebrow higher up than the left but a questioning gaze nonetheless.

"I shot through her once on a mission," James answered her gaze informatively. "Who was that mole to you?"

Darcy's head shifted sharply to the left. "It's my turn", she spoke pointedly.

"You asked your question when you asked how I knew about the Widow", James replied back, equally fast.

Darcy opened her mouth to speak and then she shut it. She really had wasted a question. "Ian was like my personal assistant."

A silence hung over the room after that and a sticky sort of feeling came over Darcy. As she sat there beside the cell, she experienced a kind of reverse deja vu. It was vivid as a red fox running through a planet of green, and her vision blurred as she felt herself overcome by dazedness. Her body loosened a bit, and she rested her head against the wall, opening her hands and letting them lie down beside her. Her legs loosened too, and opened a fraction of an inch.

"You know what's funny?", she spoke, her voice contemplative. And she turned to face him, suddenly animated. She clutched the bars of the cell tightly, her excitement too great to notice the small flower of worry bloom in James' eyes.

She let go of her left hand and pointed to James. "That you're there", and then she pointed to herself. "And I'm here." She tilted her head. "How funny", she reiterated the previous sentiment. "Remember the time when it was exactly the opposite?"

And then she experienced a whiplash. She felt so indescribably sad that her spirits sunk at an indefinite low, her knees sagging to the ground, her grip loosening on the bars. She felt like Atlas, the weight of so much her on her shoulders. She felt like a dead animal, trampled in the sand. She felt wounded and she looked up and turned her agonized eyes to the ground.

"Why James?", she whispered. "Why did you hurt me that way?" She nearly sobbed. "You came and talked to me in the night, and then", she seemed to be at a loss of words. She lifted up the sleeve of her right hand, exposing the scarred hands. "And then you did this", she said, pointing at the crescents on her arm. "And this", she showed him her slightly crooked fingers.

Her labored breaths seemed to encompass the entire room, as she clutched her hands to her chest. She finally looked up at him; the first time since her tirade began.

And what she saw startled her. The man who'd been sitting so aloof before seemed to be entirely different from the man in front of her. His eyes seemed fractured and haunted. His face was twisted and there was so much pain there that she wanted to close her eyes and run far far away; she had enough pain in her world, she couldn't bear to take on another one's. But she was frozen, her joints stuck in a time limbo.

He swallowed and his mouth opened, as if he was having trouble breathing through his nose. He shifted slightly towards her and she flinched involuntarily. James' face twisted. "No no no", he whispered. "Please don't be scared of me", he whispered low, his voice trembling across the edges of her broken consciousness.

"I didn't know I was hurting you", he spoke brokenly.

Darcy shook her head. "How is that possible?"

"It is", he spoke with a voice tinged with desperation. "They used words", he spoke haphazardly. "And I wouldn't be me." His hand clawed at his chest. "I became a", his eyes scraped across the room, as if looking for the right words. "A soldier"

Darcy just sat there, her breath shallow.

"I came to you on those nights because", he clutched his hair. "I wanted to feel human." He looked around like a wounded animal. "I gave you those medicines so you wouldn't hurt and then I hurt you" he stared at her, his chest heaving. "I broke you", he whispered.

He pressed into the bars.

"Please", he spoke, his voice nearly breaking. "Please just-" he swallowed. "Please just let me touch you", he nearly begged. "Just once."

Darcy blinked.

And there was utter silence in the room.

Darcy felt like her head had been split into parts. There was one part that was absorbing all the information, soaking it in like a sponge, and relieving James of all the charges. There was another very small part that was creating a shield, a shield against the acute empathy rising in her body, but clearly, that part was much too weak. There was a small, small part that was contemplating what it would be like if a bee entered the room; would its buzzing be the only thing audible or would the pressure in the air drown it. But these parts were minor, acutely minor, in front of the nerves taking heed in her body.

These nerves were lifting her up, one cell at a time, and slowly, but precisely, moving her towards James. Her knees scraped on the ground but she shifted forward and rose to her full height on her knees, which was equivalent to James sitting on his bent ones.

She held absolutely still. She was hyper aware; she could feel the dust motes on the inside of her wrist, and the small trickle of sweat down her back. She could feel the light trembling in the veins at her neck and the bright pulse of something in her body.

James shifted closer, slowly, so so slowly, as if the smallest abrupt movement could shatter the fragile glass they treaded in.

His eyes fixed on Darcy's irises and his flesh fingers reached out to skim her right hand, just her fingers.

Darcy instinctively raised her hand up, trapping it between their chests. James' index finger came forward and his touch whispered across the length of each finger, as if he was breaking the old memories of him on her hand.

As his finger trailed down the last of her thumb, his metal hand rose up, and with agonizing slowness, curled around her wrists. And in that instant, Darcy felt like a bird. Her heart fluttered madly inside her chest, and she could feel that James could feel it throbbing at her pulse. She felt like she was flying, like she was being set free, like his hands were washing away the tainting memory of his touch that had seeped into her bones before.

She swallowed, as James slowly lifted the sleeve of her right hand. His flesh fingers touched a puckered scar and Darcy nearly collapsed against the bars. His finger traced a pattern against her arm, like it was weaving secrets into her flesh, and burying them deep into her heart. He traced the other hand too, creating a lion, a galaxy, a flower with his touches, and Darcy felt like they were a constellation; he, the six stars of ursa major, twisting to create a spoon, and her, the pole star, the brightest star in the night. His stars leading up to the beacon that was her.

He had been looking at her hands all along and suddenly, he turned his face up and his eyes bore into hers.

James felt like he had been set on fire; doused in kerosine and left to burn bright and high. Every single cold bone in his body, every single steel tendon in his body, every single broken fragment of his visage felt like it were aflame in her heat; so potent and intense and brilliant that he would gladly be consumed in it.

His silver irises churned and he felt the ticking of the time in the beat of his pulse.

And he saw it in her eyes too. Time was drawing to a close. He held her hands in between them, a neutral territory.

Darcy could feel the catch of the clock in her blood stream, a constant thrumming that wouldn't go away.

She knew, in her hearts of hearts, that it was goodbye.

And she let herself fly, one last time. She let herself be the bird, and him the fire that set her off. And she looked at him.

Slowly, she extricated her hands from him, her eyes swimming in foreign glares.

James blinked and let her hands go.

"Goodbye, little bird", he rasped.

The air clapped against the windows and the night started to break slowly, giving way to dawn. The lights in the outside pavilion shut down, the natural light fit for illumination. The occupants of the cradle gradually awoke, the time was human.

And Darcy tilted her head and smiled slowly, a tilt of her lips.

"Goodbye."

\----

The wings of the helicopter beat angrily against the wind.

Boots thudded on the pavement as people boarded the two helicopters placed side by side on the adjacent helipad. Steve and Darcy went in one while Tony and three of his co-workers occupied the other one.

The helicopter door closed and the abrupt silence it brought startled Darcy.

She stared out of the glass at the neurocradle. The helicopter began to rise up, and the building became smaller and smaller until it became just a speck in the light and then,

it disappeared altogether.

\----

Solid silver irises stared at the panelists assembled before him.

He could nearly taste their surprise on his tongue. He looked, for a lack of better word, enterprising; like he was willing to talk to them.

But it was their day of being shocked today.

"I don't know anything", he spoke before they could begin. "I don't remember much. It's coming to me but at its own pace."

He paused for effect, and saw utter and absolute shock on the faces of the panelists.

"And I can't remember everything in my own."

He looked up at all of them, making sufficient eye contact with the lot to increase the tension in the air.

"I need help."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: the giveaway is open till 5th August. 
> 
>  
> 
> All the love.


	15. XV part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part ii : 6 months later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, this is unexpected but it is happening.
> 
> An arc of the story ended with chapter 14. But I did not want to start a sequel because that demarcates two stories. Instead, I've done a part 1, part 2, thing. 
> 
> We are now commencing with part 2, which starts 6 months later.

What differentiates congruity from similarity is the presence of a routine.

A routine that defines your very existence. A certain time table to denote how you work and in some cases, how you live.

Darcy Lewis lived according to a strict and meticulous routine.

That's not absolutely correct. If one were to define it properly, the sentence would be slightly unhinged and in some ways, deranged: routine defined Darcy's life.

She woke up at five in the morning, and upon the physiotherapist's insistence and Natasha's continuous nagging, did yoga outside in the fields. Her body wasn't strong enough, the damage too bone deep to be rectified within a few months, but she could feel it gradually improve; a tremble of strength return to her muscles. She'd gained some weight, but there was a long way to go. Sunken cheeks and heightened collarbones had nearly become a part of her face and her hair was perpetually tied back in a braid that now hung down to nearly mid back. She'd forgotten what she'd looked like with open, brown hair; which is exactly what she'd wanted.

After an hour of yoga, she ate oatmeal and her medicines. Then she went to work, and she worked, day to night, tirelessly and relentlessly, swiftly rising through the ranks to become the Chief International Relations Advisor. After all, a person who worked single mindedly throughout the week, each day from nine am to ten pm, would accomplish much more than a person who lives a life outside of work.

She reached home around ten thirty, home being a small quaint apartment that she'd bought shortly after her return. It had been a horror to most, to learn that she was moving alone in a new home in such a fragile mental state but she'd persevered; she couldn't handle being the mental patient anymore. She'd wanted a place of her own and she had had enough saved up to buy an apartment in a secure area. She'd hunted with an eagle eye, going through ten apartments in a day, until she'd finally landed in the one she resided in. The apartment was old fashioned, with wooden flooring and small alcoves. Natasha had called it something that looked like she'd plucked it right out of a fairytale. Jane had looked around in wonder at the way Darcy had decorated it, painstakingly assembling things from the antique and thrift stores. Clint and Bruce had planted filigree across both the balconies and Steve had drawn her a castle in charcoal, the canvas which now hung on the very entrance. She felt like it were hers, this house; and having something to call her own when she felt like she had nothing, made her feel better.

But what counted as the most important gift was what Tony had given her. He'd installed a state of the art security system around her flat. She'd seen him manually do it and she'd felt relied flow through her veins. In the aftermath of her return, she'd found that along with being prone to panic attacks and severe fear, she was also prone to acute paranoia; paranoia that wouldn't let her sleep at night, paranoia that kept her huddled at the door in the night, checking the lock again and again, paranoia that made her keep a gun underneath her pillow.

Stripping off and slipping into a full sleeves sweater and pajamas, she sat in her bed around eleven and listened to poetry, which she could commit to memory now, and then slept at eleven thirty, her mind drugged by sleeping pills and the fatigue of the day.

Nothing disrupted her routine, apart from her triggers. She tried hard to avoid them, but it was difficult avoiding the world.

Panic attacks or anxiety or fear or nightmares intruded on her well maintained routine sometimes, but she held on.

Everything was quiet.

And then one day, it wasn't.

\----

It's not the actual happening of the incident, per se, that affects your future. It's the essence it leaves behind that hits you in a mundane situation, and affects you.

There are some incidents though, that are so truly potent and intense in their nature, that their essence becomes a vital living being that exists and grows and lives with you forever. You may try to overcome them, you may even go as far as trying to forget them, which is improbable, but they fester; deep, deep inside.

You can only live with them, and then grow to love them.

The French can describe it best: sillage. It means the essence that is left of a perfume; the essence that truly stays with you, even when the incident doesn't.

Darcy Lewis blinked.

The chatter in the restaurant was a constant humming background against the jazz musicians twinkling on their instruments. The waiters puttered around in fancy dresses, with even fancier dishes on their trays. Her feet itched in the heels she'd borrowed from Pepper, and she felt goosebumps rise on her bare legs as the air conditioned air hit her body and snaked inside her full sleeved dress. The yellow orb lights cast intimate glows across each table; a perfect setting for a romantic date.

Darcy looked at the menu resting open on her lap again, and read through the choices of vegetarian dishes the restaurant had to offer. She longed for the chicken pastrami but the date Jane had set her on had turned out to be vegan.

"All decided?", the man across from her murmured, his voice pleasing and sweet.

Darcy looked up and gave him a small smile. "Yes", she spoke quickly, closing the menu and keeping it on the table. "I'll have a cabbage cheese salad."

The man-Derek-smiled at her invitingly. "I'll order then."

He called the waiter and gave their orders and as the waiter left, he settled his elbows on the table and leaned towards her.

"So, Darcy, Jane has told me a lot about you", he spoke, his voice offering an ice breaker.

"All good I hope", Darcy replied, and tried to keep subtle enthusiasm in her voice. This was her first date since she had returned from imprisonment and she was, unfortunately, not very thrilled about it. But Jane had grown increasingly worried over the months and she had all but nearly begged Darcy to go on a date with an acquaintance of Jane's from Stanford.

"Great things", Derek spoke. "So what do you do?"

"I work at Shield," Darcy replied. "as an International Relations Specialist."

Derek's eyes widened. "Oh man", he exclaimed and Darcy nearly felt herself sag with disappointment; another superhero fan. "Have you ever seen the avengers?"

Truthfully, it'd been two months since she'd seen any of the avengers; she'd talked to Natasha a few times over the phone but otherwise, the avengers had been radio silent during the past two months. Darcy had an inkling as to why was that but she refused to let her mind scratch it. Also, she'd been in Syria for a month. As an international relations specialist, it was her job to establish peace between Shield and it's equivalent organizations in the world and she'd had her work cut out in Syria for her. A two week long trip had turned out to be a month long one and she'd just returned eight days back.

"Just sometimes", she replied.

"Oh I can imagine", Derek spoke enthusiastically. "But man, Tony Stark is my favorite."

Darcy nodded slightly, a small smile on her lips.

"And I can't believe that you actually get to work in an area where the Avengers work", he continued to gush and Darcy mentally tuned out. "I mean, I would give anything to work with them. And how about that? They're expanding the avengers. I mean one more superhero, that'll be so awesome I can't-"

"What?", Darcy burst out, startled.

Derek stopped suddenly, her outburst very abrupt.

"Uh I just got carried away-", he started to speak but Darcy cut him off.

"No no no", she spoke quickly. "I just-", she pursed her lips. "What do you mean by a new superhero?"

Derek's shoulders pulled back in excitement, eager to share information on a topic he was so passionate about. "Don't you read the papers?", he asked. "It's everywhere! On the tv, in the news. Leaked information, some are saying. But who knows?", he threw his hands up.

No, Darcy didn't watch the television; no, she didn't read the paper; no, she didn't listen to music. She had varied triggers; triggers that could cripple her in seconds and make her realize how weak she really was and she preferred not to feel that way.

"Apparently, there is one more avenger. There have been sightings of a man accompanying Captain America," Derek spoke rapidly. "He's being nicknamed as," and then his voice dropped low as if he was telling her a secret. "The Winter Soldier."

There are incidents that leave a mark, there are incidents that define a part of people's lives and then there are incidents that create a demarcation in life: a "before" and an "after."

Time slowed for Darcy or maybe she lost her vision for eons.

She could see everything but she still couldn't see everything. She could hear everything but she still couldn't hear everything. She wasn't sure of anything-everything seemed like a delusion-except for her pulse throbbing wildly.

Her eyes fell on the candle that illuminated the center of their table-for-two and her eyes glazed over, as they forgot to blink. And in that whited edged haze, she saw the metal glint.

Thud.

She stood up abruptly, and her chair toppled back.

Derek stopped talking. He looked up at her and his expression morphed from surprise to worry.

"Are you okay?", he spoke concernedly, shifting his chair back to rise.

"No no", she spoke quickly and breathlessly, taking a shaky step back, nearly stumbling on the fallen chair.

She blindly grabbed for her clutch that rested on the table. "I'm okay I'm okay",she whispered under her breath, more to herself than to Derek who was rising up with alarm.

Her head snapped up to look at him and she spoke through a clenched chest. "I need to go." And with an expression that she hoped would convey apology, she stumbled backwards a few steps, turned on her foot and nearly ran out of the restaurant.

Her heels clacked against the marble flooring outside the restaurant door, and she nearly skidded as she stepped off from the platform on the pavement. The cold New York night blasted across her face and climbed on her bare legs but she felt no chill.

Her mind was a mess.

Usually, when a panic attack came on, she _knew_ it was about to come on.

When she'd seen a blade raked with blood in the hospital, she'd felt it's clutches stealing her away from reality and she'd stumbled into a janitor's closet and crouched on the floor, her body curled into a ball, and chanted "I'm okay", under her breath. It had come and gone, leaving a mess of her insides but she'd _known_. When she'd seen the glowing hearth in the forges of Syria, she'd felt the floor escape from beneath her and she'd run to the washroom and clenched her hair while she'd ridden through the storm of the attack. It had left her quivering on the floor but she'd _known_. When she'd met the European foreign consulate and heard the familiar phrases of German ring through the air, she'd escaped through the stairs and stood on the roof, and let the screaming of the wind rake through her ears as she relived every moment in her mind prison. It had induced hallucinations for two days but she'd _known_.

It took her unaware now, as it hit her like an icy slap of water.

She stumbled to the nearest bench and sat down limply on the seat, her body supine and caught in the clutches of memories.

She saw metal fingers tracing her forearm, moving down the fragile veins intercrossed with red crescents. They trailed downwards, right to the pulse under her wrist, and they held there.

The memory morphed slightly, and she heard the deep rough voice in her ear.

" _You're okay._ "

Darcy breathed shakily. What was real and what wasn't?

" _You're okay._ "

She blinked, once, twice, her vision clearing slightly.

" _You're okay."_

Her body twitched, the weight of the fingers so very real on the inside of her palm. Her heart beat painfully loud and she inhaled, long and deep, and she exhaled, purging out.

The soft aroma of wine wafted through the air, and the standard coldness of the winter air swirled round her neck. Traffic lights blinked on and off; and cars honked in the jam.

Darcy looked up at the stars and she felt scared; scared of the foreign feelings in her body.

She blinked.

"I'm okay."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I need reviews on this. Desperately.
> 
> Also, so many people constantly review and comment on this fic PLEASE come talk to me on tumblr! You're all so nice  
>  
> 
> All the love.


	16. XVI

Dark.

It was pitch dark. Slight illumination came in the form of road lights positioned at a distance; their orange lights creating halos.

The man in the darkness blinked repeatedly to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He took a few steps to the side, testing the ground with his foot, and found that he was standing on a road, the dusty gravel rolling beneath the sole of his boots.

As his eyes gradually grew accustomed, he looked around to understand where he was.

He was standing in the middle of an empty road; the sides of it seemed to be lined by a forest. The trees were twisted and bent, creating a dark canopy off to the sides. His eyes scanned the perimeter which seemed infinite from his distance. He walked a few steps towards the lights, his eyes fixed on the street lights far ahead. He heard a squash, as if he had stepped on a puddle, and his eyes were drawn down towards the ground.

He frowned, and bent to look at the liquid of strange density that created a puddle on the road. A metal finger extended to check the consistency of the liquid and as he lifted the blob up to look at it in the light, he froze.

The red tinge of the liquid seeped down his hand.

_Blood._

He got up slowly, and stalked to where the blood trail lead. It followed a straight path onto the side of the road where the forest began and the man stealthily followed the trail and then stopped in his tracks.

Mangled bodies lay twisted and bent on the side of the road, their joints caked with mud and blood. The man walked towards them and did a subconscious head count; seventeen bodies in total. He crouched next to one and wiped the dust from the face of the corpse.

The corpse came alive as soon as the man's flesh hand skimmed the cut off his mouth. The man flinched backwards.

The corpse seemed to be moving; it jerked around like a fish out of water. And it seemed to be garbling phrases; indecipherable in their convoluted state.

The man watched, transfixed and repulsed, as the corpse stopped writhing and fixed its glassy stare on the man. It's voice seemed to rise up from the very back of his throat, scratching and itching.

"You did this", it spoke very clearly, and the man jerked. "You did _this_ ", the corpse stretched the words out into a hiss, his tone accusing.

The man stood up from his crouch, panicked. He looked to his feet and then back to the corpse.

"No I didn't", he spoke desperately. His hands clenched and unclenched, as he stumbled backwards. His voice sounded child-like to his own ears.

"You killed _us all_ ," the corpse repeated, it's voice magnified.

The man stumbled backwards and his foot hit something. He nearly toppled over, but caught his balance at the last moment. He whirled around and terror and desperation crawled up his throat. Another set of mangled bodies lay tangled.

The man shook his head repeatedly as steep disgust escalated into a wild madness.

_I didn't do it._

The man took a step back shakily, his hands and feet cold.

_Did I?_

The man took another step back and nearly fell over in his haste but caught himself. His head hurt and his palms were clammy.

_I did._

\----

James woke up with a jerk, hitting his head on the low ceiling as his body knifed up in sitting position.

He sat still, perspiration beading down his back, his joints frozen in panic. He couldn't breathe; his chest felt like lead, too heavy a weight for him to hold. He heaved a breath through his lungs, his mouth open partway.

He blinked rapidly, looking at the broken wall in front of him, and focused all his attention on the crack that ran through the wall.

When his breath had finally calmed, he threw the covers and got up from the cot he was in, standing on the cold floor, his huge frame taking up nearly all the space in the small poorly constructed room. He picked up the water bottle from the floor and took a sip, his throat working to swallow.

He breathed shallowly through his nose and looked back at the cot. He couldn't sleep now; it was nearly impossible for him to fall into slumber, especially because he felt so wide awake.

He slipped out of the room and into the small living room with musty sofas and old wooden tables, his feet making no sound against the floor. He threw the bottle of ambien in the trash on the way; motherfucking pills do no fucking job. His body ran at a much higher metabolization rate as compared to normal human beings, and so the same ambien that could give a human eight hours of deep sleep, gave James a maximum of three hours of nightmare ridden sleep. And he absolutely refused to take injections; he was damaged, not a fucking lab rat.

James moved into the micro kitchen and opened the mini-refrigerator, bending down and nearly taking out the entire lower shelf of the wardrobe that was temporarily being used as a pantry with his other hand. He crouched down, and rummaged through the cold pizzas and burgers that populated the fridge.

_Who did not eat a pizza with pineapple on top, fucking idiot._

He heard light footsteps wisp through the doorway but he didn't turn, instead choosing to take out the half eaten pizza and placing it in a plate. He turned at his own pace to find Natasha perched on the counter next to the kitchen entrance.

"Couldn't sleep?", she spoke, her sleep laden voice carrying across the room.

"What do you think?", James replied, shrugging. He was helping them find hydra safe houses and demolish them, not fucking being a part of them and carrying out conversations.

"I think that you didn't have a very good sleep and you're being an asshole right now", she replied, matter-of-factly. "It's not uncharacteristic of you, but it is rather unflattering."

This one was always more gutsy than the rest.

"Do you mind fucking off?", James asked after a pause, taking his time to finish his bite of pizza.

"We return tomorrow", Natasha spoke, suddenly serious. "And I'm here to warn you."

James arched a perfect eyebrow. Natasha arched a perfect one of her own in response.

"Don't get your stupid assholery near Darcy", she spoke and James became rigid involuntarily. Her gaze dropped to his shoulders and he worked to loosen them, but it was clear that she had already seen the tension in his frame. Her voice softened a bit.

"I'm warning you Barnes," she spoke low in her throat. "You come near her and I will personally slit your throat." He had no doubt she would, but he was in an extremely foul mood. His head churned with mental exhaustion and hate. His body needed a fight to cool off, and he replied instinctively.

"And what makes you think I'll go near her?", his voice rang with derision. His tongue burned at his own false evasion.

Natasha's eyes narrowed at him. "You can lie to yourself, not to me", she spoke, her head tilted to one side in a disconcerting fashion. "I've seen you with her and I've seen you without her; and you _better_ stay without her." She paused, and took a breath. "You have done enough."

James' body was heating up. He needed an outlet, quick. He needed to fight. He needed to punch his way out so that the the only thing left in his mind was survival; no guilt, no terror, no remorse. Just him; without anything that wore him down.

He replied back, his posture ready to engage, his hands crossed over his chest. "I don't think I've done enough yet." And his lips involuntary turned up at one end in a smile that said that there was nothing funny about it; it was sharp as a blade, ready to cut anything in its part.

And he expected Natasha to hurl herself at him now; attack him and try to plunder him. His body curled in anticipation.

_fight fight fight_

He'd said something truly horrible, and his chest burned with raw hurt and shame. Disgust for himself crawled through his chest and it spurred him; let's forget everything.

_fight fight fight_

Instead, Natasha stood there, still as a deer caught in headlights, and then she sagged. She blew out a breath and James noticed how young she looked in her track pants sleep ensemble.

"I'm not going to give you what you want, Barnes", she spoke slowly. She took a step backward and turned halfway. "I'm not going to fight you; go fight with the demons in your head." And she turned and slipped into the room that she shared with Banner.

James stood there, rolling on his ankles. His eyes burned with no tears; _blood on his hands, blood on his body, blood on his soul_. He was a killer and killers didn't belong anywhere near people like her.

He took a step forward and ran outside the house, everything dark at two am. He looked back at the soft lights that illuminated the house in the dark forest and he turned on his heel and ran.

He ran through the trees and the mud, the cold wind blowing through his hair, and slicing his bare chest. His feet pumped him over roots and leaves and he ran; his body running on adrenaline.

And he came to an abrupt halt.

He looked up at the sky; dark and black.

And he screamed.

He screamed so loud that his throat hurt. He screamed so gutturally that his ears couldn't take it anymore. He screamed like ashes on pins and he screamed with his chest.

_There are voices in my head._

_There are memories in my mind._

_There are people in my past._

Scream.

_\-- flashback begins --_

"I'm going to keep the ice cream in the blast chiller to set". Heels clinked in the luxurious mansion. "And then you and I can have some fun." A coy smile.

Fun was to be had.

But fun was a relative term; what was fun to you, was not fun to me.

The senator's wife teetered on her heels in the empty house that her husband left her. Her hands were occupied by the metal cast which held the home-made ice cream. She was a homely woman who thrived on a man's love and domesticity. Born in the wrong family, the man contemplated from the seat he sat on, flashing a dazzling smile to the woman. Too rich for their own good, her family was old money, and reputation followed like iron to magnet. She'd been married to the handsome senator at a young age; a fairytale wedding and a fairytale romance. The press believed it, family friends believed it, even she believed it, for a time at least. The first four months had been marital bliss and the life after that had been hell of a certain kind. The senator went off to "business meetings" while the wife sat at home.

It had been relatively easy to get her to give information; emotionally fragile, physically unfulfilled, wanting a caring man. And he had been perfect. Younger, more good looking than ninety nine percent of the population, caring, and all round brilliant. He'd setup meetings in the most unexpected places; a hello at the Draw for Charity Convention, a hi at the Westminster Ball. A small discussion about their mutual favorite authors at the Book Centre, a lengthy talk over coffee. And he had wormed his way inside her mind.

Clandestine relationship between two lovers; the stuff you held sacred in middle aged romances.

Clarisse Armitage. The wife of US Senator Edward Armitage; the man in charge of nuclear welfare weapon sanctioning.

The man called her Clare. She called him David.

He looked over at her from the chair he sat on in the expensive kitchen counter. She sashayed to him and he felt mild repulsion at her excited expression. They were going to "consummate" their relationship tonight; her words, not his. He preferred to use the term "end" the non existent stupid relationship.

_Eyes on the job._

He smiled at her and rose, loosening his bow tie.

He had all the information he needed. She had been an open book and so had her house. Now it was time to destroy evidence and become the ghost that he was.

She walked up to him and fluttered her eyes, placing her hands on his shoulders. She rose on her tip toes to kiss him, but he gave her a tilt of his lips and turned her away, facing away from him.

He put his flesh hand on the nape of her neck, the metal one hidden safely under a disguise. His hand trailed down the vein in her neck and he placed his finger against it as it throbbed.

He gently placed his metal hand on the other side of her neck, the height advantage giving him a view of her hair. The metal hand was visually flesh but upon touch, it was very clearly metal. He could feel her confusion as her shoulders bunched up.

"David", she spoke, confounded. "What's-"

Snap.

He didn't give her time to finish. He snapped her neck and let go of her body. The body thudded to the ground; no blood, no foul, just a corpse on the floor.

A job well done.

He turned and picked up his suit jacket that hung on the back of a chair.

He put a hand to his ear. "Mission completed. All the data is on the mainframe."

The ear-com crackled for a second. "Over and out, soldier."

And the man became a ghost.

_\-- flashback ends --_

The jet purred sensuously as Barton put on the gears. The jet seamlessly lifted up above the ground and got into motion in acute silence. The glassed walls showcased the snow covered forests of Russia in all their glory. The forests gave way to buildings soon, small and large and so many. The jet revved on. 

James blinked, his eyes on the map in front of him. 

"Give me some more time", he spoke to Steve. "I'll remember them eventually." Steve nodded. They were hunting Hydra safe houses that were unmapped but known to James. He didn't remember them all in an instant but he did eventually. And when he did, the avengers hunted.

Steve looked up and back at Stark who was tinkering with a screwdriver, his eyes fixed on incessant rotating of the metal handle. "Stark", Steve called out and Tony's head immediately lifted up to Steve. "We can't have lapses in security again; destroy the press, take out the cameras, I don't care", Steve spoke. 'I don't want any pictures or information about us in the papers again."

Tony seemed a little lost in his reverie but he nodded, nonetheless, and went back to his tinkering.

James blinked and turned to look at the geographical coordinates being displayed on the glass screen.

Soon, they'd change to numbers he knew so well.

Soon, they'd change to a place he'd been before.

Soon, he'd be someplace he was supposed to call  _home._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so updates will be a bit unfrequent now as I'm just starting college. 
> 
> I have just shifted to USA (I'm not originally from the states) to start college and I'm really homesick; I'm really low rn so any americans or anybody really who reads this story, I'd love if you would talk to me personally on tumblr or here. Anything: be it college advice, or US advice {i don't know if thats a thing}, it'd be much appreciated.
> 
> All the love.
> 
> PS review review !!


	17. XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI people! So I have started college (I'm a freshman yes) and it's been going great so far. I read all your comments and advice and beautiful words long ago and I've only now recently started to reply (but thank you, thank you so much, I nearly cried, I love you all)> The updates will be a bit infrequent but this story will be updated.

_Yellow._

Yellow was the color of all of Darcy’s bathroom walls. 

 

The five walls that anchored the room were bare except for four small art squares that adorned each wall except the one that held a mirror. One had a picture of a palm tree on it, one was just plain white with text scribbled on it with pencil in the centre. One had the solar system drawn in charcoal, while one had pastel flowers scattered over it. But the main attraction of the bathroom were the yellow walls; pastel and bright.

 

The bathroom had a small comfortable bathtub separated from the rest of the bathroom by a sea blue shower curtain. A small window with white wooden frame and two small flower pots on the sill, sat next to the sink. The sink was sea blue too, its soft colors bringing out the dull white frame of the large mirror that hung on the one wall that didn’t hold the art square. 

 

The mirror, with fairy lights hanging along its edges, at this point at two in the night, reflected the figure of a gaunt girl huddling on the ground next to the commode. Her body was folded on itself, shaking, and her spine rigidly hit the yellow wall behind her creating a rhythmic tic-tic. Her black hair spilled out of her braid, her sleep shorts riding up, her full sleeved sweatshirt damp with sweat. Her teeth clattered in the silence.

 

Darcy swallowed loudly and clutched her hands around her knees tighter.

 

_Make it stop._

 

She shook her head repeatedly, her vision spinning with the movement. She folded further on itself and let the fear crawl up her spine and settle into her bones. She couldn’t remember her nightmare. She just remembered the feelings that surrounded her as she had jerked from her sleep, fearful and panic stricken. She had dragged herself to the bathroom she’d so carefully designed; the colors the opposite of her state of mind. This was worse. Usually, if she knew what had triggered it, she could decide on a course of action. This unknown bout of anxiety had hit her out of nowhere and she couldn’t help but ride it out.

 

Her body shook of its own accord.

 

The bright white lighting of the bathroom reflected off the yellow walls. The art square that hung right next to the wall Darcy was scrambled against glinted in the glow; the graphite of the pencil reflecting off of the walls. The script was clearer now;

 

_this too shall pass._

 

——

 

James stepped through the room, his boots thudding on the utilitarian marble flooring.

 

_Was it just him or were his boots simply too loud against the floor?_

 

He kept on walking, his feet taking him deeper into the strangely square large cabin. The cabin was furnished mechanically but tastefully, white walls at one end and glassed walls encasing the room on the other. Technology beyond the present lay strewn across the room casually like wrappers of food. There were military agreements and accolades that hung on a few places on the walls, but otherwise the walls were devoid of any personality.

 

A large wooden desk drew attention at the far corner of the room. A master chair stood on one end of the desk and two smaller chairs were placed on the opposite end. The imposing figure of Nick Fury stood against the master chair, his eye patch and leather coat firmly in place, hands clasped behind his back.

 

James moved through the room, coming to stand in front of the desk, opposite Fury.

 

Fury regarded him with contemplative eyes. “Sergeant”, he finally spoke.

 

James involuntarily jerked at the title; he wasn’t prepared for the use of this word. It has been too long. He expected the usual “soldat” or “soldier”. Fury caught James’ jerk and his head tilted. 

 

“What would you like to be addressed as?”, Fury asked, rolling slightly back on his ankles. James felt the gravity of the moment. It wasn’t a loaded question; it was a loaded answer. 

 

James breathed in. “Sergeant works best.”

 

Fury nodded and gestured one hand at James to sit. James settled in the hard backed chair, his spine straight, his eyes flickering to take in every movement Fury made. 

 

“Now Sergeant”, Fury began, his eyes fixed on James. He leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. “You know that both you and I are in a precarious situation here. You have, without any doubt, been an asset to the team in the past few months. We have uncovered and destroyed various Hydra bases with your very useful intel and yes, you being on our side has been a-“, Fury paused. “ _Rewarding_ journey so far.” Fury leaned back in his seat. “But for how long Sergeant?”

 

James blinked. Mask intact. 

 

“What do you mean?”, James asked, his voice professional to the point of monotony.

 

“I _mean_ , that how do we know that you’re not going to go on a murder spree again?”, Fury spoke matter-of-factly. “How do we know that you are on our side? How do we know that you are still not supporting Hydra? How do we know that you don’t have any ulterior motives? How can _we_ , as a _global_ organization, trust _you_?” Fury leaned forward a bit, his gaze piercing on James.

 

“Your Avengers trust me”, James replied, his voice holding no inflection.

 

Fury nodded. “Cap trusts you. And so does most of the team.” Fury looked at James in the eye. "But their trust cannot run Shield.” 

 

James took a deep breath and folded his leg so that his right ankle came to rest on his left knee. His right hand rose up to his chin in contemplation. His face gave absolutely nothing away. The silver eyes stared placidly back at Fury.

 

“Don’t run around in circles, Fury”, James spoke. “Get to the point.”

 

Fury blinked. He swallowed and cracked his knuckles. 

 

“You have two options”, Fury spoke. “You either go in hibernation; we put you there, we take care of you. Nobody fucks with your body or your brain but you go in institutionalized coma; and we decide when or if to wake you up at all. You will not be in government hands, I assure you-“

 

“Yes and your hands are so much better, Director, aren’t they?”, James asked wryly. “What’s the second option?”

 

Fury pursed his lips. “You work with us, you stay in Shield quarters, you get the exact same services like every other field agent at Shield does, except you carry out much more focused and dangerous missions. But-“, Fury blinked. “You will, twice a month, go for psychological evaluation and twice a month, submit your body for physical evaluation.”

 

“What kind of psychological evaluation?”, James did not miss a beat. 

 

“A mixture of psychoanalysis and the school of Gestalt”, Fury replied back equally quickly. “With the very same people you encountered in the NeuroCradle.”

 

“And the physical evaluation?”

 

Fury wasn’t as quick in replying this time. He studied James for a moment and then spoke. “The scientists at Shield would analyze your body for the-“, Fury paused. “The enhancements that Hydra made to your body and how. They might even run some physical tests and exercises that might hamper you for a moment or two but they will not be bothersome as such.”

 

A lab rat.

 

_A motherfucking lab rat._

 

It was the same everywhere; whether it be Hydra or Shield. You were always at the mercy of someone.

 

James got up from his chair and dusted his hands against his black leather jacket. He looked up from his hands at Fury. “Once a month physical evaluation”, he spoke and turned to leave, his steps purposeful. He heard Fury stand behind him.

 

“Sign these papers, Sergeant”, Fury spoke from behind James.

 

James continued walking and just as he was about to slip out of the door, he gave one look of courtesy to Fury. “Puppets don’t sign papers, Director.”

 

And James slammed the door behind him.

 

——

 

Darcy paved her way through the throng of people that hounded the Starbucks right in the middle of Shield HQ. She slipped a little on the cemented floor and nearly face planted on the ground but she caught hold of a nearby railing and righted herself; her need for caffeine was simple too high.

 

She slowly pushed a few bodies and moved through the thin space. There were simply too many people. It was peak time, after all. Everyone came to work at eight am. Darcy was usually the smart one who slipped in at seven and took her venti at a leisurely pace, while the major crowd struggled for a coffee merely an hour after. But her night had been rough and she’d overslept and now she was among the sleep deprived zombies that lined the starbucks shelves like starving monsters.

 

Her head still hurt and she didn’t feel completely sane. She blinked through the haze and ploughed on.

 

With effort, Darcy slipped a leg further. Suddenly, her foot caught on something hard and she felt herself go down. She caught hold of a man’s shirt and clutched it, her one leg dangling halfway off the ground while the other one desperately tried to maintain balance on a pointy heel. Her heel nearly slipped but she caught herself at the last moment, nearly dragging the man down with her. She managed to right herself, nearly tumbling in the process. She rose up and she felt a heavy weight on her back, her body still half crouched. She spun her head around, her neck inclined to look behind her. A woman behind her, who had probably been hit by Darcy’s flailing limbs, had nearly fell. Darcy put her one hand out to steady the woman when suddenly the weight increased. She nearly went down on her knees with the immense weight but she righted herself with effort. Her breath came in quick fluttering pants. Her eyes fell behind the woman.

 

She’d started a chain. People had started to crowd even more as eight thirty had approached and Darcy’s near fall, along with the woman's behind her, had stalled the entire crowd. The enormous amount of people started to push in on them. 

 

Darcy turned her head back to the front, and was nearly pushed into the man in front of her, her hands colliding into the man's back. 

 

Suddenly, everything went in slow motion. 

 

Everything became too loud.

 

 

_Too loud._

 

It was hurting her ears.

 

So much _noise._  


 

Everything became too bright.

 

The lights were piercing her eyes. 

 

Too many colors.

 

_Too many colors._

 

Everything was too much.

 

Too many people.

 

Too many scents.

 

_Too much touch._

 

Her head spun with the sensations assaulting her. So much. Too much. She wasn’t ready for this.

 

_Air._

 

She needed air.

 

She felt herself stumble and turn around to look for a way out. 

 

There were simply too many people. She was never getting out of here. She was trapped.

 

_Air._

 

_Where was the air?_

 

She turned back and pressed her cold clammy hands to her face, trying to cover her eyes and ears with her fingers. The people pressed onto her, their skin latching on to hers; they felt like leeches sticking to her flesh. A sleeve rose up and she felt the cold wind scratch against one of her scars. Frustrated tears colored her eyes. Her hands trembled on her face. 

 

_Please._

 

Air.

 

She turned again, looking through her fingers for spaces to escape. The line was packed. Her desperate eyes glazed over the people and she swallowed.

 

She’d give anything.

 

_She’d give anything for air._

 

She stumbled again and clutched her hands tighter against her face. 

 

_No no no._

 

Dimly, she heard raised voices and a voice rising above them all. She clenched her hands tighter. She heard the dynamic of people around her change; more space, lesser limbs.

 

“Darcy.” Somebody shook her body gently. 

 

  
_“Darcy._ ” Forceful hands pried her hands away from her face but she kept her eyes clenched tightly, her body wound tight and head bent low.

 

“Darcy.” She sniffled a breath, her lips pressed tightly against each other.

 

“Darcy”. She felt big hands envelope her head. “Darcy, it’s _me_ ”, she heard a voice closer to her ear. 

 

_Get away._

 

“Darcy, it’s me, _Steve_.” 

 

She didn’t care who it was. She just wanted him to go away. He was simply too close.

 

She heard a rougher voice enter her line of hearing. “Leave it, I’ve got her.”

 

Suddenly, she felt a hand a hand clutch her by the waist and slightly lift her off the ground. She felt the body move and take her through the crowd of people. Their hands touched her and she recoiled away from it all, backing into the chest of her carrier. She felt another sleeved hand curve over her chest, holding her in a mild cocoon. The noises started to recede, and fade into a slight hum. The flesh started to lessen, no wayward limbs touching her. She felt the wind on her face and suddenly she was placed on the ground. She was shuffled backwards and her back hit the wall. 

 

“Breathe.”

 

She breathed.

 

_Air._

 

She breathed deeply as tears seeped from her closed eyes in a slow trickle. Her rigid body slowly became pliable again, and she felt the coldness in her hands. Her mind slowed down from the blur. Her eyes relaxed gradually.

 

She breathed slowly.

 

And she heard a swallow.

 

And like moth to flame, her body knew.

 

It knew who it was.

 

And the tears in her eyes seeped heavily, spattering her cheeks.

 

_No._

 

Her body stood still as she cried silently.

 

She started to lift her eye lids up but she felt cold metal cover her eyes. The palm stayed there for a full minute and she held her breath, her body still. The palm slowly moved down her face, almost non existent as it danced over her skin. The hand moved down her nose, curving along its soft hook, and then fluttered over her lips and down to her chin. The hand curled around her chin for a minute and then she lost the hand, the cold wind brushing her face instead.

 

She stayed like that for a minute, her body crouched in breath.

 

And she finally opened her eyes.

 

To find just her, _alone_ , on a balcony.

 

——

 

_Message Archive of James Buchanan Barnes_

 

  
**Natasha** _4.08 pm_ : You couldn’t fucking stay away, could you | _received_  


 

  
**James** _4.09 pm_ : | _seen_  


 

  
**James** _5.45 pm_ : And leave her helpless in the middle of the crowd? | _unsent_  


 

  
**James** _7.24 pm_ : She was having a panic attack for fuck’s sake I know how to take care of- | _unsent_  


 

  
**James** _9.00 pm_ : She needed help |  _unsent_  


 

  
**James** _10.36 pm_ : fuck off | _sent_  


 

  
**Natasha** _11 pm_ : that’s very eloquent, thanks | _received_  


 

  
**James** _11.10 pm_ : that’s me | _sent_  


 

  
**Natasha** _11.14 pm_ : I don’t think you realize what you are doing | _received_  


 

  
**James** _11.16 pm_ : this conversation is over | _sent_  


 

  
**Natasha** _11.17 pm_ : No it’s not don’t fuck around | _received_  


 

  
**James** _11.18 pm_ : | _seen_  


 

  
**Natasha** _11.30 pm_ : fuck you | _received_  


 

  
**James** _11.32 pm_ : | _seen_  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're meeting.
> 
> This is not a drill.
> 
> All the love.


	18. XVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, sorry for the such late update.

Don't panic.

Darcy took a ragged breath. She twitched on her toes, her body rocking forward and backward. Her left hand lay limp by her side while her right hand clutched the strap of the handbag she was carrying. The cold air blew through her ears, as she stood indecisive right in front of the door that led to the pub.

She blinked. The faint sounds from inside the pub floated outside; old fifties music.

A couple shuffled past her and into the pub. They looked sloshed, bumping into each other and laughing, their hands entwined with each other's. Darcy stepped a little bit to the side, giving them space. The man opened the door, fumbling with the handle a little bit, and slipped in with his girlfriend, both of them giggling to each other.

Darcy swallowed and put her hand out to stop the door before it closed. With effort, she pushed the heavy wooden door back and stepped into the pub, her short heeled boots clacking against the hardwood floor.

The pub was old fashioned but she'd known that already. Her research had been thorough.

It was comparatively dark with yellow bar lights and a jukebox in the corner. People in the middle of the dance floor moved to the music, sweaty bodies engaging in dorky dance moves.

Darcy moved steer clear of that area, moving to the opposite side of the room towards the bar, her jacket quickly becoming stifling in the warmness of the place. Her high-wasted tights stuck to her legs.

She took steps quickly; afraid stopping would make her stop altogether and run back to her apartment. She checked her watch, 11:00pm; the timing was right.

Breathe.

She started walking towards the bar, removing her jacket and letting the air wash over her bare arms. Her boots thudded against the floor. Tap tap tap.

She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. It was an unsteady rhythm, so very like how she felt. She didn't even know why she was here, to be honest. She'd asked people, she'd looked up places and cautiously and slowly, she'd established these whereabouts. Betty's in Brooklyn was a staple, she'd learned. Whatever day, whatever time, Betty's at 11 pm was something that never changed.

Her eyes scanned the bar and she blinked in confusion. She reached the bar ledge and leaned forward, casually scanning the bar area.

She knew this. She'd researched this.

She was interrupted by a big burly bartender sliding to her. "What can I get you?", he asked.

"Uh", Darcy fumbled. It had been so long since she'd done this; so so long. And this wasn't the kind of bar where she ordered a cosmopolitan and sipped it daintily. "A beer would do."

The bartender turned and opened the metal refrigerator behind him, whipping out a beer bottle and placing it in front of Darcy, who perched on a stool. The bartender looked at her oddly, like he knew she didn't belong here. Darcy didn't let this deter her, her eyes carefully emotionless. She picked up the beer bottle, breaking the seal using the old opener right next to her and took a small sip, the alcohol dripping down her throat.

"Do you want something to eat?", the bartender asked.

"No thank you", Darcy replied, her eyes downcast, staring at the wooden patterns on the bar.

She felt the bartender retreat and then stop. He looked up above her. "Barnes", he nodded.

Darcy froze.

A long breath escaped her.

Numb.

She kept looking at the wood. She felt heavy jacket clad arms settle on the bar, her vision only allowing her to see hands encased in a leather jacket and palms covered with gloves. She looked slightly down and she felt a certain uncertainty creep over her. Dark washed blue jean encased legs stretched out. So normal.

"A beer", she heard him say to the bartender.

She picked up her beer with trembling hands and placed it to her lips. She clenched the bottle tighter, steadying her hands, and took a long swig, the alcohol saturating her throat, placing the bottle back on the bar with a thud.

She turned her head slowly, her brown eyes looking directly into silver eyes staring back at her.

Darcy blinked.

And then she took her time. Her eyes scanned over James' face, from the silver eyes, over the proud nose, eyeing the stubble that lined his chin, lingering on the small cut just below the lip, little jagged thing, moving down to his throat and back up to his hair that was tied low.

And James let her. He let her eyes roam over his face, and he just looked without blinking. He looked at the strands of black hair that escaped the braid. He looked at the rise of color in pale cheeks. He looked at the tautness of the jaw. He looked at the delicate lines of throat that disappeared under a sweater. He looked at the long eyelashes framing wide eyes. He looked at the eyes that burned with unbridled emotion. And he felt it.

He felt the fire beginning to light inside of him; the sweet sweet burn of feeling. It was explosive inside him; such a powerful, such a rare feeling of feeling. It was a novelty. It was a privilege.

Darcy blinked out of her stupor and leaned back in her seat. Her slightly unsteady hands reached out to take another swig of the beer. The cold liquid thwarted the dulling sensation that had fogged her brain ever since she'd seen him. She mentally shook herself and turned slightly more towards him.

James picked up his beer from the bar and set it to his lips, finishing half the bottle in one clear stroke.

He looked straight ahead, contemplative.

Darcy shifted in her seat.

He turned his head to look at her, his silver eyes so veiled.

"What do you want?", he spoke, his voice impassive. The rough tenor grated in her ears.

Darcy blinked.

What did she want?

She looked up at James and licked her lips that had suddenly gone dry. "I don't know", she told him honestly.

James didn't give any reply to that, just looked at her. Darcy took another small sip of her beer, his gaze disconcerting.

"Then why did you follow me here?", James asked, his voice not unkind.

"I didn't follow you", Darcy evaded.

"Let me rephrase", James turned fully towards Darcy, one arm leaning on the bar, the other holding the beer bottle in a firm grip. "Why did you come here then?"

Darcy breathed shallowly. Her eyes flicked up at the yellow lights and then back to James.

She tried to think of a lie, she really did. Anything that would make her seem less of a lunatic like she seemed right now. But in all honesty, there was no answer to his question. She simply did not know why she had come here. She just knew that she had.

"I don't know", Darcy spoke again, her eyes downcast.

She felt him move a bit closer to her, the subtlest of shifts.

"Okay then", James spoke abruptly. Darcy looked up at him, confused but he didn't give her time to think. He pointed behind her with the hand holding the beer. "What do you think about her?"

Darcy twisted in her seat to see a woman wearing a dark red dress with a plummeting neckline. She was tall, her back ramrod straight, teetering in heels. Darcy squinted her eyes. "What do I think?"

"Yeah", James nodded. "What do you think about her?"

Darcy looked at the woman again. What was James playing at?

"Um she's tall", Darcy replied.

"And she's also a Shield agent."

"What?"

James nodded once, turning to rest his back against the bar. "Nina Smith. Previously squadron four. Now covert agent op."

"But", Darcy looked at the woman surreptitiously. "Why?"

"Why would Shield trail you?", James spoke contemplatively. "Or is Shield trailing me?" James took a swig of his beer. "But why would they be trailing you? Me, I get. You?" James turned to her, his monologue self explanatory. He looked at her as if he had answers. He looked at her, imploring her to decipher what he's saying.

Darcy stilled.

His silver eyes bored into hers and his eyes were simply, too much. His eyes held truths. Truths that she doesn't want to know.

It might have happened in eons or in a matter of few seconds. Darcy didn't know. It just happened.

James held her gaze and without breaking it reached for her left hand that rested in her lap. He grasped it and Darcy looked at him, bewildered. He slowly raised their hands up and then with his other hand whipped out a lighter from his pocket and set fire to his beer bottle. He twisted abruptly and threw the bottle right near the seating area, the alcohol in the bottle catching fire, and exploding halfway through, sending burning shards in the area, landing on more alcohol and igniting more fires. There was a sudden rush and a cacophony of sounds. Darcy had no idea about what happened outside. She vaguely heard people shouting and some bodies pushing into each other, elbows against elbows, hands against hands. She kept looking at James, frozen in place, as James yanked her up with their joined hands and pulled her through the crowd, parting the people for both him and her. He pulled her towards the emergency exit, going through the door and entering a dark hallway.

"Run", he spoke under his breath. Instinctively, Darcy began running with him through the narrow hallway, reaching a staircase. His strides and pace were much faster than hers but adrenaline pumped through her veins. Both of them ran up the stairs, her hand in his. The stairs may have been millions or even one, Darcy didn't know. She just kept on running. They ended upon a door, the dull closed air boring down upon them. James opened the door with a shove and exited to the outside, into just the entrance of an alley, the streetlights blaring upon them and cars roared past them into the distance.

Cold air blew against Darcy's face. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest in an uncoordinated mess. It was loud in her ears, very very loud. Her breath came up fast in her lungs, and her chest rose up in an unsteady tempo. Her nerves felt zinged. So much movement, so much shakiness. Her vision was vivid; everything was in high contrast and high brightness.

But that's how it was with James always wasn't it?

It was always electric; always so much. She could acutely feel every nerve ending in her body, the blood coursing through her veins, the electricity crackling.

Darcy swallowed and then she leaned forward. She yanked at James with their entwined hands and took a half step away, the wind like a sheet between them. Slowly, she rose on the very edge of her tip toes, letting go of his hand slowly as she rose upwards, and, with nothing in their bodies touching each other,

she pressed her lips to his.

It was just a simple touch of lips, just a press of flesh against flesh; her hands open and fingers straining against her sides, his fingers slowly curling by his side. Her lips were slightly damp with perspiration and his were cold with the wind.

It was no tongue. It was no movement. It was no twisting. It was an exchange of breath; sharing the same air, a touch of the air he breathed, a touch of the air she breathed.

None of them took it any further.

They stood there for an entire minute, lips partly open, brushing against each other, their body speared by an inch of a distance.

James could feel everything and nothing. His body seemed numb, just a part of the wind around him. All sensation was centered on his lips, the focal point of all he felt. He felt it. He felt it spread from his lips to his face, a tingling in his body; a man awoke.

Darcy's eyes were shut lightly, fluttering softly, her mind not thinking, her body supine in peace. Her racing heart slowed down and halted. She felt it in her bones; the calm that evaded her now was here. She was there. She felt each nerve ending light up; slow, embers of ignition. There was nothing and everything inside her. She was there in the here and now.

For that moment, she belonged to the present and nowhere else.

Darcy took a deep breath, almost in a daze and slowly leaned back, detaching from James. Slowly, so slowly, she lowered on her feet and opened her eyes.

Her fingers rose up to caress her lips lightly. She raised her head and looked up at James. She could feel thoughts protruding from the side. She could feel her head retaliating. She could feel that it was coming. But she caressed her lips, and she kept it at bay.

And then she turned with one look at James, and left.

\----

Nick Fury paced in his office, his boots clacking across the marble flooring. His eyes darted from the monitor to the report lying on the table in front of him.

Agent Smith had most certainly been identified. She, of course believed that there really had been an accident which had created a near stampede in the pub but Fury knew better. The Winter Soldier was infamous for escaping and he had successfully accomplished it, along with taking Darcy with him.

Fury blew out a large breath and turned abruptly. 

He could feel control slipping from his fingers. He was control, and control was security. The Winter Soldier had to be monitored. Fury couldn't let such a valuable asset being loose on the streets. Barnes just reporting to Shield on a daily basis wasn't enough; every move of an assasin like him should be known.

Fury walked towards his desk, and bent down.

 _Time to get better people on this_.

He put the intercom to his ear.

"Hill."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM,
> 
> all the love.


	19. XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been gone way too long. I know it's been a long long time and I don't know how many people want to read this anymore. But I'm going to finish this story this summer, genuinely and with all my heart.

The sun poured through the windows in small streams, piercing Darcy's closed eyelids.

She blinked her eyes open groggily, looked at the time: 9 am on a Saturday, turned over and slid back inside the covers, uncurling her legs and stretching them out. She mumbled incoherently and then suddenly, in a flash of coherence, last night's events flooded into her mind.

Her eyes flew open and she gasped audibly. Her legs curled automatically into her chest again and her body became rigid. She breathed laboriously, her eyes fluttering. She couldn't believe it, she couldn't believe what she'd done. She couldn't feel anything wrong in what she'd done, she just felt surprised. More than that, she felt bold, she felt exhilarated, she felt like the old her.

Her therapist had been right. He'd told her she needed closure. His means had been vastly different from what she'd done yesterday, but none of his advised methods had given her this sense of newfound agency.

Darcy breathed deeply through her nose and slowly, very slowly, unfurled her legs, stretching her arms out to spread palm up to her side. She straightened her torso and lay spread eagle on the bed, the covers falling off her body. The sun beat down on her body through the windows.

The panic attack hit her out of nowhere. One minute, she was stretched out on the bed, the next she was curled into a ball in the middle of the sheets, her breathing shallow and rapid, her hands clenched into tiny fists. She breathed through it, her eyes watering, and then she cried, she cried her heart out, she cried everything away, she cried as her body slowly unthawed and she cried as her body heaved,

 _breathe_.

\---

Shield Headquarters was in a state of mass panic. Everything was chaotic. Voices mixed over each other: missions being scrawled rapidly, coordinates being taken down in a flurry, the machinery working at its maximum capacity, footsteps creating a cacophony of sound over people talking at high volumes and manic speed.

The attack in Lagos had shaken Shield to its very core. Shield had been mapping Hydra's location for a solid few months after the demolition of Gamow and his facility and they'd felt that they were on the right trail. A few hundred people, specialists in their field, chosen among millions in the world for such tasks, solely dedicated to the task of tracking Hydra couldn't go wrong. The trace had been leading them to Sochi, a city in Russia. Shield was supposed to send out scouts tomorrow, a team skilled in nearly everything. They were to provide confirmations and affirmations, after which the Avengers would be dispatched.

But the attack in Lagos had taken the world by storm, and had made Shield a pulsating epicenter of its own. Hundreds dead, hundreds taken hostage of, and a Hydra banner standing proud and tall in the battleground at Lagos. Both Shield and Hydra had always operated underground. This open uprising was a break in tradition and an open challenge. Heavy coverage of the news showed varied things--what was Hydra? the threat this organization posed, the death toll that steadily rose, the failure of authorities to improve the situation--but pointed to one major thing: the attack hadn't stopped. It was ongoing, and every minute that Shield wasted meant more lives lost.

The attack was the work of a mastermind. Strucker was at work.

While the lower levels of Shield was in mass chaos, the highest level of the tower housed a meeting of the most elite. Fury sat at the head of the round table, with Commander Hill to his side, the entire cohort of the Avengers on the right side, and seven major world leaders to Fury's left. It was quiet in the meeting; uncharacteristically quiet for a meeting full of leaders that led various intelligence organizations in the world and could take out entire countries with one command.

Nothing has been said as of yet except for the bomb Fury had dropped as soon as everybody had entered the room: what everyone knew, and what everyone felt: the truth that Hydra lied within Shield, and that nobody could be trusted was a laughing understatement at this point.

James blinked slowly, his eyes moving to each of his team members. Natasha and Clint knew this was coming, their gaze seemed completely guarded. Steve, on the other hand, had shielded his gaze, but James knew in the muscles of Steve's jaw that Steve had held hope that the re-building of Shield would remove such possibilities. James shook his head; _Steve, always the optimist_.

James' eyes darted to Fury and from his periphery he saw the woman gaze at him hesitantly. James ignored that and centered his attention on Fury.

Fury cleared his throat in the acute silence that permeated the room. "There's only one thing we can do now: let the lower levels believe that they are doing the work, while we carry out all the work here, in my quarters." Fury turned to Hill. "Commander Hill is more than capable of assembling a team that works from the base here and also a set that accompanies the Avengers for field work in Lagos."

Nobody spoke for another three minutes and then the leader of the intelligence in the Middle East cleared her throat delicately. "And who do you think would be a part of the team of Avengers you have assembled?"

Fury blinked. James felt Steve tense. Sam stiffened beside Steve. Natasha darted a gaze at Clint, who turned to look towards Fury. Tony sighed behind them. Everyone knew what the question entailed.

Fury acted as if there were no implications to the question. "Everyone who is present here", he gestured vaguely towards the group of superheroes sitting to his right.

" _Who_ , Director Fury?", the woman asked again, her black eyes narrowing, her accent slipping through and somehow sharpening the air around her.

Fury fixed his gaze on her. "Captain, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor, Doctor Banner-when the occasion should arise-and Sergeant Barnes."

The woman swallowed thinly. Before she could speak however, the head of the British intelligence spoke, blunt and to the point, "you cannot expect us to trust Sergeant Barnes on this mission. For all we know, he might be leading us all into a trap."

James blinked. He felt Steve start to speak up and he firmly placed a hand on Steve's shoulder, stopping him. This was neither the time, nor the place.

Fury turned to the man. "I understand why you might feel threatened but rest assured, Sergeant Barnes is not who we was." James nearly laughed. He imagined himself in a Hollywood movie with a somber face playing the character of a "reformed man". _Fucking_ _funny_.

Fury continued, "He's been in therapy and he is the best strategist we have for a mission against Hydra, having been a part of a Hydra himself." This time, James couldn't control himself and the right corner of James' lips rose up involuntarily in a half smile.

_Part of Hydra. More like a slave._

Natasha caught that smile, and twisted her lips to suppress hers. The two assassins recognized each other in a group of soldiers and leaders.

"Besides", Fury said. "Sergeant Barnes is bound to us by several means."

The man blinked and stared at Fury for a solids few minutes.

"We expect the mission to start tomorrow", the man said.

"Day after tomorrow", Maria interceded. "We need the best of the best, and even with Shield's efficiency, we cannot recruit them in a day with utmost secrecy."

The man nodded and looked around to gather agreement from others. The commission rose silently, signaling the end of the meeting.

"We have a deal."

\----

James stared at the ceiling.

He blinked slowly.

He had been in bed for an hour but he couldn't fall asleep just yet. His mind kept replaying the events of yesterday night on loop. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel like he was there. He could feel her lips damp against his, and the wind corralling through his hair-

He shook his head violently.

He mustn't do this. Especially in the face of a near war. But every time he stopped thinking about yesterday night, all he could think about was the attack at Lagos. It was a big step for Hydra to take, almost a leap forward of ten years. James had known that this was coming, but not so soon, never so soon. And every time his mind was occupied by Lagos, all he felt was deep seated fear in the pit of his stomach: what if he went to being what he was? What if he encountered Hydra and they reduced him to a slave again?

He had been in a cognitive therapy for a few months now and the control he had over his mind felt good. But he knew what it was like to lose control, he knew how quickly it could leave him. Just a few words, and he was gone. The therapists had assured him that the possibility of that happening was negligible, but what if it did?

_What if?_

James threw the covers around him abruptly and got up, his bare chest dripping with sweat borne of anxiety. He reached out for a bottle of water on his desk but found all of the empty. He huffed in annoyance and stomped outside into the huge corridors, making his way to the kitchen.

He stopped as soon as he took one step inside. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd not realized that somebody else had been in the kitchen already. Steve turned around to see James standing at the entrance, and gave him a soft smile. James smiled back tightly and entered the kitchen, making his way to the refrigerator.

"Couldn't sleep?", Steve asked, holding a cup of coffee in his hands and leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Nope", James replied, searching for a water bottle in the mess of a refrigerator. "You?"

"No", Steve replied. James heard Steve sigh.

James finally caught hold of a bottle behind the left over pizza boxes and pulled it out. He opened the bottle and gulped down nearly half the water in the bottle and turned around. Steve was looking at him, his eyebrows pulled together at the center.

"What?", James asked.

Steve sighed.

"I just-", Steve swallowed, and tapped his foot on the ground softly. "I wanted to-", Steve started again and stopped. He kept his coffee mug down and rested both his hands on the counter, his chest heaving.

James was too hard on Steve. James knew it, but he couldn't do anything to improve it.

James swallowed more gulps of water. "What is it?", he asked in a softer tone.

Steve turned towards James. "What did Fury mean when he said that you are bound to us?"

James blinked.

He knew this was coming. As soon as the meeting had ended and everybody had left, Steve had turned to James and looked at him with concern, something James still couldn't stomach. And James, in his usual fashion, had darted away with a senseless excuse.

In this moment, however, James had no excuse to use.

He couldn't tell Steve the truth.

James couldn't tell Steve, how every Thursday evening, James was treated like a lab rat and sedated by Shield scientists to see how his bodily mechanisms worked under duress. James couldn't tell Steve, how sometimes, the intel they got about Hydra wasn't borne of tracking and research, it was borne of acute mental pain and therapy and coaxed out of James' fragmented mind. James couldn't tell Steve, how he did all this, just to be _alive_ , just to _live_ as human and not a puppet. James couldn't tell Steve, that sometimes he just wanted to meet a certain person and that one time, he did.

So James lied nonchalantly.

"It means that you guys saved my life and I am obliged to save yours."

James drank more water.

Steve gazed at James for a few seconds and then he nodded, buying halfway into it. They both knew there were lies in the statement but they both refused to acknowledge it.

"Okay", Steve said, his voice a bit low, and James yearned to tell him the truth. But he couldn't. Steve couldn't take it. Steve would fight against it. And James didn't want to fight anymore. Before all this had happened, James had always joked that he was a lover, not a fighter, and in this moment, he felt it in his bones: he would do anything to not fight.

James swallowed and nodded slightly, "good night".

Steve gave a strained smile.

"Night."

\----

There were a million papers scattered on Maria's desk: some important, some not so important, some absolutely useless, but to-be-preserved nonetheless. Maria's hands quickly skimmed through leaves of papers, creating soft indents at their edges.

Maria hadn't slept all day. She was running on a mixture of coffee and energy drinks. She wanted to eat the donut that a worker had left on her desk hours ago so bad, but she knew if she ate even a little bit, she would fall asleep like a pin. Maria's right leg twitched sporadically: a sign that she was overworking herself, but she couldn't stop. She was in the process of finally recruiting the team she wanted; all the time before had gone in researching people's backgrounds. She had thought she had known Shield workers like the back of a hand, but after the fall of Shield the first time under Pierce, she was extremely wary and cautious.

Maria licked her lips and wrote down another name on the red sheet of paper, a nearly illegible scrawl. The red sheet of paper were the individuals being sent to Lagos and the white sheet of paper were the individuals staying at the Headquarters but working on the upper levels. It was strange, Maria felt, to be writing on papers. Technology was tangible in their fingers, a running, living breathing monument of mankind and here she was, sitting in one of the most technologically advanced buildings in the world and creating a roster by hand on paper. It was almost like elementary school again.

But they couldn't take any chances. Anything that happened on the internet was accessible, regardless of the amount of secrecy you bound it in. Shield had experienced it firsthand in the first downfall and Fury was not willing to take a chance on it again. Nobody was willing to take a chance on it; Stark had himself taken three hours to deliver all the papers from the intelligence agencies around the world to Shield headquarters. He had cribbed about it sure, but anything electronic was a threat to the world and everybody, including the masterful mechanic himself, understood that.

Maria licked her lips and counted the number of undercover spies she had installed in the team: all of them were specialists in their fields and fit the criteria perfectly. The human rights and law departments were where she was having the maximum trouble in. They needed human rights lawyers and specialists at the site in Lagos. They wouldn't be on site, fighting battles, but they had their own war to wage: the one that permeated every political office and every media pothole.

Maria had taken several people into account, but the truth of the matter was, she needed a glue to hold the team together; somebody, who was not a lawyer, yet was very well versed in the content of the matter: a virtual think tank. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she knew who that glue was, but she dismissed it reprehensibly; there were other options to be found. If anyone could find them in the pile of papers resting on her desk, she could.

Maria stashed the white and red papers on her lap and dragged the other piles towards her. She licked her index finger and began to leaf through the files rapidly, the motion creating a whooshing sound in the otherwise completely silent office.

Maria swallowed. She was nearing the end of the second file and she still couldn't find what she wanted. Nobody qualified perfectly, and in a mission like this, everything had to be just perfect. Maria finished the second file, and was just moving on to the third and last one when her phone vibrated. She rummaged under the piles on her desk and finally found her phone, struggling to pull it out into the open.

It was a text message.

The phone lit up with the notification.

 **Fury** :  
Don't pull your punches.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for leaving. And I apologize to all the people who had been emotionally invested in this story. If you can find it in your heart to get back into this story again, then please do. 
> 
> BUT I'M BACK. AND HEY I'M WRITING. AND I'M SMILING SO HARD AS I WRITE THIS BECAUSE I'VE MISSED DOING THIS SO MUCH!!
> 
> All the love.


	20. XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * IR stands for International Relations. And Lagos has been changed to Sokovia because Sokovia as a fictional city gives me much more freedom to create and edit.

A grand total of three hundred people lined the jet arena. The sun blistered down, and the sun rays glinted off the quinjet, creating an almost blinding glow. Deep silence penetrated among the occupants, almost loud in its quietness.

Darcy tapped a toe on the ground. Her back was wet with the sweat that pooled in the hollow of her spine. She stretched her neck backwards and tapped her toe on the ground again. She was impatient to get on the quinjet. Darcy blinked the sweat off her eyes, and sighed under her breath. She could feel Jane's imploring gaze on her back and she was ready to just _not_ feel it anymore.

Darcy had been staunchly ignoring Jane since after the meeting at Maria's office. A covert operation didn't begin to cover what the meeting had revealed to them. Jane had been relieved of all her research projects, at least for the time being, and was to stay at the premises but was instead working on analyzing the weaponry and tech used in the Sokovia attack. Darcy, on the other hand, was recruited to actually _go_ to Sokovia. It had been a quick briefing of what Shield was doing, but somber enough to make everybody realize the weight and acute secrecy of the situation.

Darcy had looked at Jane's eyes across the room, and then had avoided Jane like the plague the entire night. Jane wanted Darcy wrapped in a cocoon, safe and away from the real world. Darcy appreciated the sentiment, she truly did, but she was done being fragile goods. She'd always studied political science with the aim to eventually work and negotiate on-site. And the opportunity was finally here. Darcy wanted to work, and she wasn't going to let anybody, be it Jane, stop her.

In the meeting, Darcy had seen acute horror and revulsion on people's faces. In a distant sort of way, she understood that. But in a more involved sort of way, she'd felt a certain kind of perverse excitement inside her, a gross kind of pleasure, as she imagined herself, in any capacity, being of use in demolishing Hydra. She'd never realized it before, this particular vendetta and intense hatred that had grown to extreme proportions inside of her; she'd been too scared to even think about Hydra, much less hate it. The meeting had put things in perspective for her, in a way, forcing her to face her troubles.

She'd been awake all night, tossing and turning and thinking and being extremely scared and being angry at being scared and then being just plain angry and by dawn, she'd known that she was going to this mission, regardless of whatever anybody said.

The red light around the quinjets turned a vivid green and the people immediately segregated. Darcy followed Mansoor as he made his way to the quinjet at the end of the line, the rest of the IR team following them. Darcy bumped into a few people in the organized chaos as people attempted to move to their assigned seating.

The quinjet assigned to them was a dark blue, one of the few colored ones in the fleet of white. Darcy climbed the folding stairs and entered the jet, shivering involuntarily as the cold air blasted from the vents. She slinked to the back and occupied a seat near the very end, beside the large reflective glass pane.

She popped a sleeping pill in her mouth, downing it with water. The quinjet purred to life, the entry closing with a metallic thud. Darcy bit her lip, slightly nauseous and waiting for the pill to kick in. She put on her seatbelt and smiled at one of the members of the team who turned to offer her a mint. The pilots keyed the mechanism in, going through the protocols and the quinjet became silent, getting ready to take flight. Darcy looked outside the window, and saw about five quinjets already in the air, looking like small birds in the sunny sky. She looked at the small amount of people gathered in the arena, securing the flying lines, their neon clothing bright enough to blind somebody.

A glint at the edge of her vision caught her eye and she turned her head towards it. The quinjet took flight, soundlessly rising perpendicularly to the ground, and Darcy saw the metal glint and she felt a stab of familiarity. The body attached to the metal was turned towards her, eyes trained up at the rising quinjet.

As the quinjet rose higher, the man became smaller and smaller until all Darcy could see was a black dot on the ground, after which she promptly fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

\---

It was cold. It was biting. It was sharp. It was everything everybody had warned and more.

Sokovia was dark, snowed in, and under severe attack. It couldn't get worse than that.

James cracked his knuckles. Natasha turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow. James sneered at her. Natasha sighed and turned back to look at the barren landscape outside her window.

The first mission had been a disaster. No other Shield division had made any move yet; all of them had been put on hold. The covert ops team had been confident of their plan: divide and conquer; they were going to take out Hydra at the city head office, the federal bank of Sokovia and the military stronghold and then let the entire army attack.

The Avengers or anybody of the vanguard selected by Maria Hill had not known anything about it. They'd landed into a pit of unawareness. Apparently, the mission had been a given a green light by Nick Fury and even Hill claimed she had no idea about it. It was horrifying, James thought, that there were secrets within a secret. It hadn't made just him uneasy. He knew the entire team scouted by Hill was uncomfortable but nobody spoke about it. There was enough on everybody's plates as it is.

The covert ops, however, had been almost certainly been on the reverse end of their own scheme: the snow had hampered their movement, they had not anticipated the sheer amount of Hydra soldiers scattered throughout Sokovia and they had also not expected the nuclear arms that Hydra was employing so casually and with such carelessness.

The covert ops team had been divided and thus, it had been conquered.

It wasn't as if James hadn't warned everybody about this happening, before anybody had known anything about any covert mission preceding Hill's vanguard and Wilson had suggested covert missions in the first place. Fury had openly defied James' judgement with this one act, and everybody knew it. Russia and Germany were Hydra strongholds; he knew them by heart and he knew how Hydra played their cards. But Fury had chosen to not heed his advice.

He didn't know what to make of it. It put him on the edge. He knew he could disappear any minute he wanted to, and it would be the best thing to do. But he felt stable here. He felt like he could be here. And it had been so long, _so so long_ , since he'd just stayed.

Two days into Sokovia, and things were already looking terrible.

James rocked on his heels, restless and swiftly turned and punched the wall with his flesh hand, causing cracks to appear across the cement. Natasha sighed loudly again from her place on the large table in the conference room.

"You're so fucking annoying that it hurts", James snapped at Natasha. Natasha scoffed at him. "At least I'm not punching walls."

James felt like he was teetering at the edge of a cliff. Any minute, all commanders of the Shield military team would be here in the conference room, crowding the large ebony wood table and James was going to be briefing them on plan of attack. Steve had given the job to James and rightfully so. James could close his eyes and visually recreate the entirety of Russia and Germany. It had been a public deferral of Fury, in a way, but James tried not to dwell on that.

Shortly after that, James and the rest of the Avengers would be meeting with the IR team, his advice extremely valuable in negotiating the release of the covert ops team that had been taken hostage and release of statements to neighboring nations. Every time he thought about the IR meet, he could feel his hands shiver. A conundrum lied there: he didn't have any desire to see the IR team and at the same time, he so desperately wanted to see the IR team.

James began pacing again.

Natasha cleared her throat delicately. "It's going to be okay, Bucky", she said.

James looked up at her and nodded tightly, going back to pacing again.

Natasha sighed deeply. "You can't say thanks, can you?"

James stopped and looked up at her. "You want me to say thanks to you for saying it's going to be okay."

Natasha scrunched her face in anger, sudden rage fueling her. " _Fuck you_ ," she said sharply. "A thank you for fucking tolerating you would be very _fucking_ nice."

James stopped again. "You know what--"

The door flew open.

James and Natasha turned towards the throng of people entering the room, the argument cut short by the incoming chatter accompanying the large amount of people. Natasha humphed and stood up, vacating the chair for a fellow military commander, and stalked towards the large glass panes that overlooked the barren snowed in land.

Steve and Tony entered the room last and made their way to the front of the room, where James stood cracking his knuckles repeatedly. Steve turned to look at Natasha and then he looked back at James. He shook his head.

Steve turned towards the military leaders, his manner efficacious and accessible, his body open to the people.

"Thanks you for joining us", Steve said, wasting no time. The room became gravely silent, the disaster of the covert operation tangible in the air. It began snowing again outside, white flakes swirling.

Steve didn't waste time by running in circles. "We are in a bad position", Steve continued, matter-of-factly. "We have about seventy people being held hostage by Hydra, at least twenty five have been lost, and as I speak, Hydra gains more foothold in Sokovia." Steve looked around the room. "The original plan is useless now. The covert ops failed terribly and we cannot go forward with the old markings." He stepped forward a bit. "Sergeant Barnes here--", he gestured to James standing behind him, "has offered us his services in creating the new plan of action." He stepped aside, letting James take lead.

James licked his lips and then he let his mind go blank.

He stepped forward, whipping out a huge map of Sokovia from under the table, spreading it across the table top. It was an official map but James had drawn all over it, little scribbles detailing the actual topography and construction and industrialization of Sokovia; an insider's view to a little known city. There were large buildings drawn on the place where they existed in real life, and illustrations of artificial canals all through the city.

James took a marker out from his pocket and divided the map into four unequal parts. He rested one hand on the table and looked up at the commanders studying the map. "We don't attack simultaneously", he said. "We attack one by one."

He pointed to the northern part of Sokovia where they were currently holding base. "We take over the north first." James wrote a 1 and circled it. "The North gives Hydra access to Kavarnika. That's where they are importing their grain from."

"But our reports said they are getting in food from Mann", a man said, pointing to the southern edge of the map.

James nodded. "They were", he replied. "But after the collaborative sanctions on Mann by Asia, their trade abilities have been severely hindered. Hydra's second best option has always been mountain Kavarnikan merchants." He pointed to a narrow opening in the map. "We cut off ties with Kavarnika, Hydra loses their food supply and we gain control over the elevated base, giving us better vantage points for almost everything."

He moved to the East. The East was disproportionately small as compared to the North, which was by far the largest. "From there, we move on to East. We retain control in the North and attack Eastern wedges." He marked small dots over the East on the map. "This is the most concentrated area. Hydra agents everywhere." He drew a circle over South. "We take the East in half as much time as North and immediately advance to the South, giving them no time to prepare." He explained about the the Hydra facilities spread in the South and how the weapon usage reports that they had just received from the Shield headquarters correlated with it.

"Once we have these three, the West will become a fucking mess." James looked up at all of them. "And the strategy for that?" He unbent and stood straight. "Just _fucking_ attack."

It was a reckless strategy and everybody knew that. But times were terrible, and in combating recklessness, everybody recognized that they had to employ a bit of recklessness themselves.

James felt a tug. He saw slightly disturbed looks on some faces: _they doubted him_. James wasn't a people's person, at least not anymore, and he didn't know how to be Steve. James wasn't made to inspire people, he was made to intimidate and threaten them, and his every word, even a plan that helped these commanders, reeked of his makers' intentions.

In that moment, James utterly loathed himself.

He moved a few steps away from the table and looked at Steve, uncertain. Steve nodded back at him. James took a deep breath and turned back to face the table.

"We attack tomorrow at 4", James said, and he saw steely resolve replace doubt in its stead. In the back of his mind, he knew that that subtle head nod by Steve was an endorsement and this change in everybody's attitude was a direct result of their beloved Captain's faith in him. But for now, he let himself think that he was the same Bucky who could charm anybody, who could lead anybody, who could inspire anybody. He was the same Bucky, _human_ and reachable.

And James let out an exhale.

"Ready your teams."

\---

The overhead light flickered on and off, casting a disconcerting glow on the stark white walls. Wires lined the entire floor of the tech room and blue light from the laptops and the computers seared Darcy's eyes. Darcy's hands shook but she continued writing, her writing nearly illegible to everybody but herself.

Beside her, three agents typed rapidly on their laptops, their eyes glued to the screen, desperation in their postures.

The Sokovian disaster was no longer just a disaster; it was war, in the most official way possible. Hydra now held Shield agents as prisoners and they had received no official communication from the Hydra base regarding the prisoners. The situation was a do or die.

It had been two days and the ten people composite IR team had collectively talked to about fifty heads of states and government officials, negotiating and drawing deals. The media and political outrage had been hysterical, and the re-emergence of Hydra as such a strong force had prompted some military and nuclear powers to attempt to deploy forces to Sokovia. The problem lied in the New York Accords, signed as a precursor to the re-establishment of Shield, removing Shield and its affiliated from certain international treaties. The very first page of the Accords stated a clear clause: no interference of States and Nations in matters of post-nuclear armies, post-nuclear armies referring to the use of unbridled advanced tech used by the likes of Shield in its weaponry and as an institution, a group that Hydra was a part of.

But just because other countries couldn't by restrictions, interfere in the Sokovian situation didn't mean that the reality of war and politics seized to exist. IR had been forced to employ a turn of Chewbacca defense, and it hadn't been serving them well. Every time IR released a statement, criticism pored in from political houses all across the world.

Darcy breathed shallowly, finishing the last sentence in a hurry, missing the full stop and threw the paper at another agent beside her. The agent immediately began typing it out.

Darcy nearly ran out of the room, skipping over wires and old school extension chords, and into the narrow corridor where the rest of her team awaited her. Nobody looked any better than Darcy: haggard postures, unkempt clothes and dark under eye circles due to extreme lack of sleep.

The IR walked down the flight of stairs, through the crowd of military commanders that were leaving the conference room after their meeting had been adjourned and marched into the room in question, the door closing behind them with a thud.

\----

James could tell the exact moment she walked in the room.

It was as if something subtly altered around him, and turned a little bit brighter than the muted colors that surrounded him. Or maybe it wasn't anything around him. Maybe it was just him and his body reacting to hers being in close proximity to his.

He was turned away from the IR team, his back to them, his eyes fixed on the snow fall outside. It was Natasha's time to take over, who was surprisingly good at diplomacy, considering her history and her line of work. James was merely an advisor on this, and that too, only because of his extensive knowledge of Hydra activities. Negotiation had never been his strong pursuit, even before Hydra had happened to him, and his long stint as the Winter Soldier had wiped any morsel of retribution in his body. James looked outside, not giving in to the temptation of turning around or even indulging his peripheral vision.

Erik was handing over a host of documents to Natasha while one member of the IR talked to Steve about impending confirmations of enforcement of the New York Accords from several coastal nations. James' ears perked up at this, his attention solely on the Accords situation.

This was bad. If any nation tried to intervene, then others, even those who had confirmed their non involvement in Sokovia, would too. And if nations intervened, this could very well turn into World War III, something that Hydra very well intended to do. James felt a cold pit form in his stomach.

It was an understatement to say that everybody knew that war was bad. It was everything you didn't want. But people like Steve and James knew firsthand, _what war was_ , and how people lost everything in war: their wealth, their lives, their loved ones, their _minds_.

James instinctively turned to Steve and the cold pit in his stomach grew. Steve looked as sick as James felt. Steve nodded at the woman. "Will they confirm?", Steve asked, his voice hollow.

"We don't know", the woman replied, her face drawn. "We are trying our absolute best--"

"Then try harder", James intervened, his voice harsh. The room grew tense by a thousand and the woman completely withdrew. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha start to speak and shut him up but she was cut off.

"Why don't _you_ try harder?", Darcy spoke up and James turned to her for the first time since she'd met him at that pub. Her face was pinched, her eyes narrowed in rage that was singularly pinpointed at James and his comment. "Why don't you get the job done and get Hydra out of Sokovia instead of telling us to work harder?"

James tried not to look at her but he couldn't not. The face was etched in his memory. Some nights, when he could sleep and not toss and turn with the nightmares that plagued him, _he dreamt,_ and every _single_ time, he dreamt of this face.

James registered her words late and then he blinked. He bristled at her shrill tone and his eyebrows bent low over his eyes. "It's not that fucking easy", he spoke gruffly.

"Exactly my point", she snapped. "Diplomacy isn't that fucking easy either."

James nearly flinched as she swore. Somehow, the word sounded much more biting than it did in his mouth. He held his stance, though. "So you're saying that we are going to start World War III because you couldn't convince some countries to adhere to the Accords?"

Darcy raised one eyebrow. "Do you know how we convinced countries to sign the New York Accords in the first place?" She took a step forward, still on the opposite side of the table from him, her hip bones digging into the edge of the table. "We made it absolutely clear to them that we had a plan, that we were in a much _much_ better position than them to handle any sort of crisis, that their interests were separate from the overarching areas which Shield was involved in." Darcy licked her lips quickly.

"Do you know how the countries will be convinced to _not_ interfere in Sokovia?", Darcy continued, leaning a bit forward, her words clear. "Again, by making it absolutely clear to them that Shield can handle it, that they should not act here, because Shield will put an end to this disruption and no nation will find _any_ culmination of _any_ interests by taking part in this war."

She straightened. "And to be very honest, the failure of the covert ops mission shows them _exactly_ the opposite."

James blinked. In the deep recesses of his mind, he recognized that what she was saying was correct, and that yes, the IR was not at fault anywhere. But in this moment, the forefront of his brain saw red.

Later, when he would introspect and come upon this moment in his memory, he would realize how Darcy threw everything into color around him and he would cringe and think of something else. Right now, he hated her guts. And he hated them, because she was one hundred percent right. James had been trained to react, not think. He had been trained to take no insult that undermined him, nothing that could decrease the threat he posed as a machine and he reacted accordingly.

James couldn't feel the stillness in the room. He couldn't see how Steve looked between Darcy and James, wide eyed. He couldn't see how Tony and Bruce both slunk back towards the wall almost immediately. He couldn't see how Natasha swallowed a satisfied smile. He couldn't see how the IR team was on edge, ready to defend Darcy. But he could feel his body grow tense, and he could see Darcy's intense face focused on him.

"Then tell them, that we attack tomorrow morning", he spoke, low in his throat. "Tell them, to fucking stay where they are", he bared his teeth. "Because this time, Hydra _will_ fall."

Darcy blinked.

And then she raised her chin up. "Consider it done."

And James saw Darcy's eyes flicker with something other than anger or acceptance. With a start, he realized that her eyes burned with acute want.

She wanted this so badly.

_ So so badly. _

She wanted to raze Hydra and she knew she couldn't do it on her own.

She wanted to end it, once and for all.

And James felt like he was on fire; from his head to toe, doused in gasoline and her eyes burning him alive.

_ He would do it. _

James would make sure that after Sokovia, there was no more Hydra.

James would tear Hydra apart _limb_ from _limb_.

James would fucking erase the motherfuckers.

And he would make sure, that she watched as he did it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love.


End file.
